


Under the Chenille Blanket: World's Fair 1939

by Cryo_Bucky, FrostyEmma



Series: Under the Chenille Blanket [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Jewish Character, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, NSFW Art, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-03-31 22:52:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13985025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky/pseuds/Cryo_Bucky, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyEmma/pseuds/FrostyEmma
Summary: A few weeks later, Steve hadn’t dropped the idea of drawing blue books for quick cash.Bucky put in a few half-hearted protests here and there, but Steve had always been a stubborn little shit and once he put his mind to something, there was no talking him out of it, no matter how harebrained or ill-conceived the scheme might be.Besides… they could’ve used the extra money.“Okay, fine,” Bucky finally agreed on a very muggy late-June evening, after Steve had fucked all sense out of him. “You can meet the guy. But I’m going with you.”Steve and Bucky (finally) move in together and attend the historic 1939 World's Fair in New York, where they eat borscht straight from the Motherland, engage with talking robots, and learn how struggling artists really made a living during the Great Depression. (Answer: Drawing illegal, erotic comic books financed by the mafia.)Steve's definitely game for using his talents that way, but when he hits a bit of writer's block, Bucky and their gorgeous neighbor come up with an inspired solution.Written for the MCU Kink Bang and featuring two gorgeous illustrations by the talented cryo_bucky!





	1. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bucky smiled down into his pie. “Moving in together’s a pretty big deal, Stevie.” He tapped his fork against the plate once, twice._
> 
> _Steve waited._
> 
> _Bucky licked his lips. Hesitated. “Almost like getting married.” His shrug was a bit too casual. “You know?_
> 
> _“Yeah.” Steve felt his heart swell in his chest as he reached out to put his hand on Bucky’s. The thought of living together, of behaving as though they really were married, made him happier than he had words for. “Yeah, I do.”_

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/149453653@N06/40141177405/in/dateposted-public/)

**Red Hook, Brooklyn**  
**June 1939**

The heat of summer was in full swing. 

A single electric fan churned sluggishly at the still, soupy air, a dripping ice block in front of it, but it hardly managed to do anything but push the air damply around. And, of course, all the windows were closed. Not that the muggy air outside would have made the muggy air inside any more bearable; there weren’t many places to escape from the summer heat in Red Hook. 

But even if Steve had had any hope of driving away the oppressive temperature with ventilation, the windows would have stayed shut tight with the curtains drawn. After all, he couldn’t risk the neighbors hearing any of what was going on in the apartment just then.

Steve clutched at the covers with both hands, balling the sheet up in his fists and burying his face in the pillow to muffle his moans of pleasure. His cock throbbed, pinned between his stomach and the mattress as Bucky thrust into him again and again. A thin sheen of sweat slicked them both from head to toe, a price Steve was more than happy to pay for how good Bucky could always make him feel.

Bucky let out a gasping moan, buried himself to the hilt, and spilled endlessly into him. The feeling of it sent Steve hurtling over the edge as well, his own sticky heat soaking into the towel he’d had the foresight to spread out under him. And when Bucky collapsed on top of him, Steve blew out an exhausted, pleasure-soaked sigh.

“I think there might still be a bit of pie in the icebox.” He turned his head lazily, Bucky’s cheek against his own. “What do you say?”

Bucky let out a breathless puff of laughter. “I’m finally rubbing off on you. Usually I’d be the one asking.”

“I have an appetite.” Steve looked at Bucky out of the corner of his eye - which was the only way he could look at him just then - and chuckled. “Sometimes.”

“Yeah, you have an appetite.” Bucky nibbled the shell of Steve’s ear. “Usually for me. At midnight.”

Steve couldn’t really argue with that. One of the best things about having Bucky spend the night was the opportunity for midnight snacks. He could wake up with a hard-on and simply turn to Bucky with a few kisses and some gentle stroking, and a few minutes later they’d both be gasping as they breathlessly fucked. No matter what time of night it was.

“Am I supposed to apologize for that?” Steve smiled, satisfied and very pleased with himself. “Because that’s not going to happen.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Bucky’s tongue flicked against Steve’s earlobe. “And if it did, I’d be suspicious.”

Steve leaned his head back, pushing against Bucky’s nibbling kisses and daring tongue. “Well, good.” The smile became a grin. “Don’t want you getting unrealistic expectations, after all.”

“Oh no.” Bucky trailed a slow line of kisses down Steve’s neck, his fingertips just grazing Steve’s throat. “No expectations here, no sir.”

Steve closed his eyes, let his head sink into the pillow, and enjoyed Bucky’s attention. How nice would it be, he thought idly, to get to do this every single night? To wake up in bed with Bucky every single morning? To live together under one roof with the person he loved most in all the world?

“Move in with me, Buck,” he said suddenly. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Bucky out of the corner of his eye again. “Will you?”

Bucky stilled, mid-kiss, and then shifted off Steve and onto the mattress, propping up his head in his hand. “There’s a switch. We were just talking about pie.”

“I can think about more than just food.” Steve rolled over as well. He couldn’t help but say it; it was too easy. “You’re the one who has trouble with that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Abruptly Bucky sat up and reached for one of the clean towels they had left on the floor. “Sing me a different tune, would you?” He toweled off, then got up, wrapped the towel around his waist, and disappeared into the kitchen. 

Steve could hear him rummaging around in the icebox. He couldn’t help but notice that Bucky had avoided the question altogether.

Bucky returned a moment later, a plate of pie in each hand. “You want the coconut custard or the lemon meringue?”

“Ooh.” Steve perked up, sitting up in bed without a stitch on. He pushed his sweat-damp hair off his forehead. “The coconut custard, definitely. And then you can tell me what you think of my idea.”

He wasn’t going to get away with ducking the question.

Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed and passed Steve the coconut custard pie. He forked a bite of lemon meringue into his mouth and chewed in silence for what seemed like a very long minute.

Finally he said, “You want me in your space all the time? Taking up room? Eating all your food?”

“Keeping me company.” Steve didn’t like where Bucky’s thought process seemed to be taking him. He needed to be reminded of the good he did for Steve just by being there. Just by being _himself_. “Waking up with me. Going to sleep with me. Eating breakfast and dinner with me.” He gestured at the pie, at the disheveled bed, and at the pair of them in their sweaty nakedness. “Doing this with me.”

Bucky smiled down into his pie. “Moving in together’s a pretty big deal, Stevie.” He tapped his fork against the plate once, twice. 

Steve waited.

Bucky licked his lips. Hesitated. “Almost like getting married.” His shrug was a bit too casual. “You know?”

“Yeah.” Steve felt his heart swell in his chest as he reached out to put his hand on Bucky’s. The thought of living together, of behaving as though they really were married, made him happier than he had words for. “Yeah, I do.”

Bucky turned his hand over, threading his fingers with Steve. “You might get tired of having me in the way all the time. My clothes on the floor. Icebox always empty. Can’t cook worth a damn.”

“Neither of us can.” Steve snorted and clasped Bucky’s hand in his. “And when have we ever had an overflowing icebox anyway? Or been in each other’s way?” He squeezed Bucky’s hand, locking eyes with him and hoping like mad. “Come on, Buck. Don’t look for reasons not to. Look at every way it’d make your life happier.”

Another smile flickered across Bucky’s face. “I think it would make my life exhausting. You’d never let me get any sleep.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Steve grinned. “You don’t exactly discourage me, you know.”

Bucky’s smile widened. He forked a large bite of pie into his mouth and after a moment, said, “Did I tell you? Becca got a job offer.”

Bucky’s sister had finished high school and had entered Miss Connor’s Secretarial School only a few weeks ago. Their local parish, impressed with her grades, had paid half the tuition, while Bucky and their ma had contributed the rest.

“Really?” Steve’s face split in a wide smile. “That’s great! Where, Domino’s?” 

The sugar refinery in Williamsburg was responsible for employing a huge number of people in Brooklyn, including Bucky’s ma, who had worked on the assembly line for nearly two decades.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, they needed the extra help, so she’s picked up a few hours, couple days a week. And when she finishes school next month, they said they’ll bring her on full-time. So…” He squeezed Steve’s hand.

“Buck, that’s great news!” 

Steve couldn’t contain himself, practically quivering with excitement. Becca’s employment meant more money coming into the house for Bucky’s ma, which was something everybody in the neighborhood could use. 

Bucky licked his lips again and set the plate aside. “So… if you really… if you don’t think…” 

He shook his head, took the other plate out of Steve’s hands, and set that one aside too. Then he gently pushed Steve back on the mattress and climbed on top of him.

“You better think long and hard about this, mister.” His breath was hot against Steve’s ear. “Once I move in, you’re stuck with me. I ain’t going anywhere.”

The thought of it flashed through Steve’s mind in a thrilling instant: the two of them together, for the rest of their lives. Living together, creating a shared life together, spending years upon years together and never regretting a single instant of it.

He spoke without hesitation, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

\---

Two days later, Steve was working one of his rare evenings at the Federal Art Project’s community center over on Clinton Hill, where he was either teaching or learning something about cubist constructivism. Judging by the way he talked about it for what felt like hours at a time, cubist constructivism was something very exciting in the art world.

It had something to do with art directly reflecting the modern industrial world, but mostly it seemed to mean that people and buildings looked like ugly blocks. 

But what did Bucky know? He wasn’t the artist. 

With Steve out for the evening though, that gave Bucky the opportunity to talk to his ma and Becca about potentially moving out. 

When he came home from closing the store, Becca and his ma were already in the kitchen, getting dinner on the table. As always, he offered to help, and as always, they told him to help by staying out of the way. He sat in the parlor and listened to a new radio program, Mr. District Attorney, until his presence was required at the table.

He brought it up over his second helping of ham and black bean soup.

“So now that Becca has a job, I was thinking of moving in with Steve for a bit.” He dunked a slice of brown bread into the soup. “You know, to help him out.”

“Oh, good,” Becca said promptly, a smirk dancing across her face. “I get your room.”

Becca and their ma had been sharing a bedroom for as long as Bucky could remember. And while they had to walk through Bucky’s bedroom to get there, at least Bucky had gotten his own space. A cramped space, with only one window that looked directly into the kitchen, but his own space all the same. 

“That’s not a bad idea.” His ma took a long pull on her coffee. “I mean, if he won’t move in with us-”

Which Steve had stubbornly refused to do. More than once.

“- then you being there with him is better than him continuing to live alone.” She set her coffee cup down. “And you’ll only be a block away.”

“And you’ll keep him alive,” Becca added. “Remind him to, you know, eat. And breathe, probably.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

Becca shrugged. “I’m not wrong.”

Bucky shook his head and tore off another hunk of brown bread. “No, you’re not.” He swirled the bread around in the dregs of his bowl. “You’re really not.”

Two days later, Bucky moved in with Steve. 

It was very easy to do. He could fit all of his clothing into one box and all of his books, toiletries, and records into another. He had a portable, wind up gramophone that he had bought from a pawn shop a year or two ago and a couple of model airplanes that he had never gotten rid of, but not much else. 

Three trips up and down the block, and he was moved in.

Steve was practically jumping up and down with excitement the whole time. He met Bucky at the front door of the building, offered to carry the boxes upstairs for him, pouted when Bucky told him he could manage, and grinned from ear to ear when the last trip was done and the door shut behind them.

“Welcome home, Buck!” Steve flung his arms around him giddily and laughed. “I can’t wait to get you all moved in. Hey, you brought the gramophone?” He peered into the last box. “Let’s put on some music and get you unpacked.”

Bucky put on a little Josephine Baker, but the packing lasted exactly five minutes before Steve lost his patience, pulled Bucky into bed, and fucked his brains out.

Afterwards, naked and sweaty and completely spent, Bucky managed a very breathless, “I haven’t even unpacked my toothbrush yet.”

“So who needs a toothbrush this long before bedtime?” Steve laughed a breathless little laugh of his own and wrapped his arms around Bucky to hold him securely captive. “Where are your priorities?”

Bucky smiled. “So this is what the rest of our lives look like, huh?”

Not bad for his age.

A week later, Bucky was happy but exhausted. Exactly as predicted, Steve had woken Bucky up nearly every night for a little midnight snack. And though Bucky had decided nearly every night that _that_ night, he’d simply tell the little punk to go the hell back to sleep, once Steve’s mouth and hands were on him, it was very hard to make the smarter decision.

At the store, Mr. Cicalese noticed, and so instead of sending one of the delivery boys to make the usual rounds, he sent him. Which brought him right to Frannie McDowell’s door.

“Well, hello there.” She looked pleasantly surprised to see him and immediately stepped back to beckon him inside. “I was expecting someone a lot younger, but this is better.” A smile, a brush of a single red curl behind her ear. “Sit for a minute. You look exhausted. Let me get you a drink.”

As always, Frannie was a vision in one of her Oriental silk robes - vibrant green this time, patterned with white flowers and pink hummingbirds. 

“I am exhausted.”

Bucky decided to take her up on the offer - she wouldn’t have made it if she didn’t mean it - and business was slow enough that day that Mr. Cicalese could do without him for a little bit.

“My fella’s been keeping me up all Goddamn night.” He slouched in the chair and accepted the glass of lemonade she brought out from the kitchen. “And I’m too stupid to tell him to go the hell back to sleep.”

Frannie laughed, a rich musical sound, and sat on the sofa. “He’s got more energy than he looks like he ought to, your little fella.” She smirked and crossed her long legs. “Something tells me the two of you would be a lot of fun to watch.”

Despite his exhaustion, Bucky grinned. “You like to watch, do you, doll? Why am I not surprised?”

Flirting with her had always been very easy. And a lot of fun.

“I like all sorts of things.” She arched a single perfectly plucked eyebrow and didn’t let up on the smile. “You shouldn’t be surprised at all. Though I’m a little surprised it’s taken you this long to finally move in with him.”

Bucky shrugged and took a sip of the lemonade “Couldn’t move out until my sister was taken care of.” He spread his hands. “But now she’s taken care of, and Steve doesn’t do so well on his own.”

“He doesn’t seem like he would.” She laughed softly. “You’re sweet, you know?” Her smile softened, radiating warmth like a thirty-watt bulb. “And I’ll bet you take really good care of him.”

“I try.” Another pull on the lemonade. “Don’t always succeed, but an effort is made.”

“Well, I know you’re always one to put in the effort.” Frannie got to her feet, brushing that stray lock of hair behind her ear again before coming over to him. She stood close beside the chair, smiling, and reached out a hand to stroke his hair. “And you’re definitely a good man. But you need to know when to take care of yourself too.” 

She gathered his head to her gently, cradling him against the softness of her ample bosom, and when he breathed in, his nostrils were filled with the scent of her. There was powder, the tiniest hint of perfume, but mostly just Frannie.

He felt himself relax against her. “If I weren’t due back to work…” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“You’d probably fall asleep right here,” she finished, running her fingers through his hair. “And who’s to say I’d mind that at all?”

“Definitely right here.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a small smile. “It’s plenty soft and warm.”

“And you’d definitely wake up happy.” Frannie laughed again, lightly. “Now you’ve got me wishing you didn’t have to go back to work.”

Bucky looked up at her, raising both eyebrows, that same smile still hovering on his lips. “You looking for a bit of a tickle, babydoll?”

“What can I say?” She shrugged, and the movement lifted her breasts and Bucky’s head along with them. “When Jerry’s out of town, I get ants in my pants after a little while.”

“And you were hoping for a quick midday blanket party?” He brought his hands to her waist, just barely resisting the urge to slide them over her silk robe to more interesting places. “Is that it?”

“Well,” she said with a sly smile. “Not till you showed up, I wasn’t. The kid who does the deliveries now isn’t much my type.” She dug her fingernails pleasurably into his scalp. “You, on the other hand…”

A rush of shivers thrilled down his spine and he inhaled sharply, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, Fran,” he groaned. “So much trouble.”

“With Mr. Cicalese?” There was a smile in her voice, but she paused in her movements. “Or with Steve?”

“I’ve been working for Mr. Cicalese since I was a kid. Nothing to worry about there. But Steve…” He blew out a breath. “Well, he wouldn’t mind so much if he could be part of things, but he’s never had much luck with girls.”

Quietly he added, “I don’t know why they don’t see him.”

“He seems like a nice enough guy,” Frannie replied, her fingers coming back to life in his hair. “Not my type for a tumble, maybe, but he’s got to be a sweetheart if you love him so much.” She shrugged again, Bucky’s head bobbing along with her chest. “Some girls just don’t know how to look at guys the right way.”

She continued stroking his hair for a few moments, then paused abruptly. “Hey. What would you and your fella say to a night out?” A smile. “I was going to surprise Jerry with tickets to the World’s Fair, but he got himself shipped out again.”

Abruptly Bucky pulled back and looked up at her, eyes wide. “The World’s Fair?”

The World’s Fair had opened out in Queens back in April after four years of construction, but Bucky hadn’t been able to get tickets. It was supposed to be the biggest world’s fair ever, with dozens of countries building massive pavilions to show off their culture and food and whatnot.

More importantly, the theme of the fair was “Dawn of a New Day!” and all the advertisements had promised that visitors would get to see “the world of tomorrow,” and all the innovations that it promised.

He was supposed to say something sympathetic about her lunker of a Merchant Marine husband getting shipped off somewhere exotic for the next several months, but instead what tumbled out of his mouth was:

“I’d love that. Yeah, that’d be great, Frannie. Really great.”

“Good.” She smiled and held her arms out to him again. “Then you and your fella can escort me there on Sunday. It’ll give me a chance to meet him properly, and it’ll give the two of you the chance to have a date without anybody getting too nosy, and it’ll give us all a nice night on the town.”

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/149453653@N06/40833402331/in/datetaken/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE FIRST  
> I had a lot of fun collaborating with the incredibly talented cryo_bucky for the MCU KinkBang. I was thrilled when she chose my story to illustrate, as I'd seen her gorgeous artwork before, and what she created for this story did not disappoint! (Her first pic was a warmup - bonus!Bucky - as seen in this chapter.
> 
> You'll have to read to the end for the smutty art. (`˘з˘)
> 
> NOTE THE SECOND  
> Comments, questions, observations, and kudos are a fanfic author and fan artist's currency, so do be generous!


	2. Elektro the Moto-Man!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Buck Rogers?” Steve glanced at Frannie just long enough to see a smile play over her perfect, cupid’s bow mouth. “Sounds like his married name to me.”_
> 
> _Steve felt his face grow searing hot at that little gem of a thought. A strangled little sound escaped his mouth, and he had to look down at the ground and shove his hands in his pockets in order to breathe properly again._

**Red Hook, Brooklyn**  
**June 1939**

“I don’t know what I’m doing here, Buck.”

Steve looked at himself in the mirror again and smoothed his hair nervously for what had to have been the hundredth time. His suit looked shabby - _he_ looked shabby - and there wasn’t much of anything he could do to fix that. Next to a classy dame like Frannie, he thought glumly, Gary Cooper would look shabby. What hope did a poor schmoe like him have?

“What do I even say to her? She knows all about us; she’s going to look at me and I’m just going to sink into my socks.” He was babbling now. “And you’ve slept with her. What happens if that comes up in conversation? You’d be better off leaving me at-”

“Stevie.” Bucky held up a hand. “Shut up a minute, would you?”

“I can’t help it!” He tugged at his collar, half expecting a cloud of steam to come rushing out. “She’s a gorgeous, classy dame that we’ve both had fantasies about, and you’ve already done the deed with her, and what am I going to look like next to her?” He squirmed uncomfortably. “I ruin all your double dates, Buck, you know I do.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and turned back to the mirror to fix his hair. “This ain’t a double date.” He dipped a comb in the jar of Brylcreem that sat on the shelf above the kitchen sink. “We’re simply escorting Frannie to the World’s Fair on account of her husband being away at sea.”

“Oh, is that all?” Steve went through the exaggerated motion of wiping sweat from his forehead. “That’s a relief. And here I thought we were escorting Frannie to the World’s Fair on account of her husband being away at sea.”

He looked at himself in the mirror again before turning away in hopeless resignation. It wasn’t going to get any prettier no matter how many times he looked. “What am I supposed to talk to her about? I don’t even know how to talk to ladies without sounding like an absolute moron. And what could she even find interesting about me anyway? It’s not like I’m some world traveler or a tycoon or a film star or anything. I’m just going to louse this up.”

Bucky didn’t even look up from styling his hair. “You could tell her about all the times you’ve had me on my knees. She’d be very interested in that.”

Whatever Steve had been about to say got lost somewhere in his head. He stared at Bucky with an open mouth and bulging eyes, then laughed in spite of himself.

“I think I’d need about a hundred beers before I ever had the guts to say that,” he sputtered, still wheezing with laughter.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, right.” He set the comb on the shelf and turned to look at Steve. “Get a beer - a beer and a half - in you and you’ll be singing her your life story in glorious Technicolor.”

“More like I’ll be joining the Lollipop Guild.” Steve snorted right back. “That’s about my level. Technicolor and all.”

“C’mon.” Bucky put his arms around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

\---

“This place is incredible.”

He’d probably said it a hundred times since they’d gotten there, but he kept on finding new reasons to say it. About once a minute. The fairgrounds were nothing short of awe-inspiring, and it seemed like every time he turned his head or shifted his eyes, something new was there to captivate his attention and boggle his mind.

When they’d first walked in, the brightness and modernity of the whole landscape was enough to get him staring in open mouthed amazement. Nearly every building he laid his eyes on was extraordinary in some way or other. Experimental architectural styles, grandiose scale, intricate design and decoration, and plain old creativity seemed to have been the norm for almost every single structure. And the greatest example of it stood at the center of the fairgrounds.

Soaring a full six hundred feet into the sky was an awesome three-sided spire that tapered to a needlelike point. Beside it, in the middle of a wide lake, was a two-hundred-foot-wide sphere connected to the spire - the ‘Trylon’, so the directory called it - by what turned out to be the longest set of motorized moving stairs in the world. And once inside the giant ball, which had been named the ‘Perisphere’, Steve’s jaw dropped again.

Laid out below them in painstaking detail was a scale model of a futuristic city. The voice from the loudspeaker proclaimed it to be “Democracity: the City of Tomorrow!” as the moving walkway beneath their feet carried them slowly around its perimeter. Bright electric lights, brighter than any Steve had ever seen, lit the miniature streets of the amazing diorama and shone in pinpoints from the tiny windows of its ultramodern houses. And high above their heads, on the massive curved ceiling of the huge sphere, were projected moving pictures of life in the amazing futuristic utopia.

Exiting the Perisphere brought them onto a mammoth spiral walkway called the ‘Helicline’, which brought them back down to ground level on the bank of the decorative lake. And there was still so much more to see, acres and acres of it, an entire neighborhood transformed into a showcase of the future.

And it was all right here in New York.

“This could only happen here,” Steve said, grinning from ear to ear and nearly bursting with pride. “Only in America, only in New York, and how lucky are we that we get to be here to see it?”

It took Steve a moment to realize he was speaking only to Frannie. Bucky was standing on the moving stairs again, waving down at them as he was carried upward, a dopey grin on his face.

Like a kid in the world’s biggest candy store.

“He really does love his science fiction, doesn’t he?” Frannie smiled as she looked up at Bucky, then back over at Steve. Steve felt himself blush furiously under that smile, but for some strange reason, his tongue didn’t turn to glue the way it normally did around a good-looking dame.

“Yeah.” He looked up at Bucky rather than try to look at Frannie and talk to her at the same time. There was only just so much he was capable of, after all. “He reads a lot of those kind of books. Listens to all the radio shows. Never misses a _Flash Gordon_ or _Buck Rogers_ serial at the pictures.”

“Buck Rogers?” Steve glanced at Frannie just long enough to see a smile play over her perfect, cupid’s bow mouth. “Sounds like his married name to me.”

Steve felt his face grow searing hot at that little gem of a thought. A strangled little sound escaped his mouth, and he had to look down at the ground and shove his hands in his pockets in order to breathe properly again.

Luckily, Bucky reappeared in front of them just then. “Fella at the top gave me this.” He pushed a brochure into Steve’s hands. “Said there’s a talking, walking robot in the Communications and Business Systems Zone.”

 _Elektro the Moto-Man!_ screamed the title of the brochure with the logo of the Westinghouse company conspicuously nearby. _And His Little Dog, Sparko!_

“This I’ve got to see,” Steve said with a grin.

Elektro the Moto-Man did indeed walk and talk. In fact, he told the audience “My brain is bigger than yours” in a very mechanical voice to a chorus of hoots and cheers. He stood a massive seven feet tall, shining bronze from head to foot, and looked as though he must have weighed as much as a subway car. On command, he identified the colors of the red and green lights that flashed in front of his eyes. And when his human assistant asked him if he wanted a cigarette, he puffed away at it like a fiend while his robot dog, the same shining bronze, wagged his metal tail and made mechanical barking noises.

“How long before robots start learning to be short-order cooks and subway conductors?” Steve wondered aloud, shaking his head as he watched. “What’s there going to be left for the rest of us to do?”

“Lounge. Read. Smoke.” Frannie’s mouth curved into a smile once again. “Among other pleasures.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Bucky returned the smile easily. “Spend the day doing those other pleasures while my house robots cook and clean.”

“Don’t you think the robots might get jealous after a while?” Steve raised an eyebrow at Bucky. “I mean, if their brains are bigger than ours and they have to do all the work while we live the high life?”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, then frowned. “Well,” he finally said, “we’d have to figure out a workaround for that.”

“Well, if they’ve already got a robot who can smoke and chat, maybe next they’ll build a robot who can show other robots a good time on their off hours.” Frannie smiled. “They’ll have robot dance halls and robot gin joints and houses of ill mechanical repute. It’ll be a gas.”

Bucky’s whole face lit up at that, and Steve had the sudden irrational fear that Bucky might decide Frannie was just all-around better company than he was. She was a lot better-looking, after all, and she could make Bucky laugh and smile without any effort at all.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by Bucky throwing an arm around him and yanking him close. “C’mon, let’s find out where they stashed the food. All this talk of gin joints is making me hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Steve replied with a relieved grin. Frannie smiled at the sight of the two of them, and Steve decided he didn’t have to be worried after all. “But maybe there’s a place where we can try meals in pill form or something.”

Thankfully, there wasn’t any such thing on offer. They ended in the Government Zone, which boasted “sixty foreign governments proudly offering a stunning array of diverse cultural offerings to all fairgoers!”

The Italian pavilion alone had sparkling, 50 foot high waterfalls and real marble statues of Roman gods and goddesses, along with a behemoth restaurant designed in the style of the nation’s luxury cruise line. 

“So,” Bucky finally said, after they had stood and stared for what felt like a long time, “there’s no way we’re getting to all sixty pavilions. How do we choose?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, pointing over at a towering square building topped by a massive statue of a man in boilermaker’s overalls. The man held aloft a large red star in one hand. “But that one looks pretty inviting.”

The USSR Pavilion, as the huge building turned out to be, was every bit as architecturally impressive as it was ambitious in scale. The blood-red tower on which the statue stood had to have been two hundred feet tall, surrounded by imposing granite buildings on three sides.

“The pavilion has been designed by Boris Iofan, in a exemplary display of post-constructivist, Stalinist architecture.” Bucky read from one of the gleaming placards situated around the pavilion. “While the composition retains its rationalist structure, the pavilion still fulfills the representational goals of Socialist Realism.”

Frannie raised an eyebrow.

Bucky let out a low whistle and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Guess I’m too lowbrow to know what any of that means.” He glanced at Steve. “You?”

“Well, I don’t know about Socialist Realism.” Steve looked up at the huge relief carvings of Stalin and Lenin that dominated the fronts of the two closest buildings. “But if this stuff isn’t post-constructivist, I don’t know what is.”

Off Frannie’s look, Steve blushed, shrugged, and mumbled “I went to art school.”

Bucky smiled proudly. “Yes, you did. The mostly highly educated among us schmoes.” 

Steve had a moment to dwell happily on the thought of Bucky being proud of him - it filled his heart with a warmth that he couldn’t have gotten from anything else - before Bucky nearly knocked him sprawling by clapping him a bit too heavily on the back. 

“C’mon,” Bucky said, his hand still on Steve’s back. “Let’s see what’s inside this thing.”

The inside of the pavilion was filled with dioramas, paintings, and models proclaiming Soviet pride. There were marble statues - including a couple of big reddish ones of Lenin and Stalin - murals, and a theater that constantly ran film reels trumpeting the successes of the Soviet Union. Part of the pavilion was modeled to look like the interior of a grandiose subway station. 

“Mayakovskaya Station,” Bucky read slowly off the large, gleaming placard, “is the grand showcase of the Moscow metro… something about constructivism… pride of the motherland…” He blew out a breath. “Frannie, which way’s the food?”

It didn’t take long for Frannie to lead them to a giant cafeteria, and before long they were sitting down to bowls of a dark red soup and big fried buns stuffed with chop meat and fried onions.

“The soup’s pretty good,” Steve said as he frowned into the napkin he’d just wiped his mouth with. “But I probably look like I’m wearing lipstick.”

“Soviet women don’t need lipstick,” Frannie laughed as she lit a cigarette. “They eat so much borscht their lips just stay red.”

“Don’t you know that lipstick is counter-revolutionary?” a familiar voice said behind Steve. 

Steve turned around in his seat to see Arnie Roth standing there with a grin on his freckled face. His curly brown hair was as unkempt as ever, but he was dressed in what looked like his Sunday best. Next to him was a pleasant-looking fellow with dark hair and glasses.

“Arnie!” Steve stood up and shook hands, smiling. “Good to see you.” He gestured across the table. “This is Bucky - you’ll remember him from my drawings - and our neighbor Mrs. McDowell.”

“Just Frannie, if you please.” Frannie smirked and blew a jet of smoke toward the high ceiling. “Mrs. McDowell’s my fella's mother, God rest her soul.”

Bucky looked at her. “Your fella's mother passed away?”

“Oh no, but she had ten children.” Frannie smiled. “That woman deserves a rest. And a personal chef.”

Arnie snorted with laughter. “The same could be said for my ma. Pleasure to meet you, Frannie.” He gestured towards his friend. “This is Michael. Steve, you’ll remember him from when we were talking about your drawings.”

Steve certainly did, and his face lit up as he reached out to shake Michael’s hand. It felt a little surreal - but also gratifying in a way he couldn’t explain - to meet another guy’s fella and for them to know each other for what they were.

“You guys want to join us?” He gestured at the table. “We can make room, and there’s plenty to talk about.”

Arnie and Michael exchanged a glance, and Frannie watched them over her cigarette with keen interest.

Finally Arnie said, “Sure, why not?” He and Michael dragged chairs over to the table and sat down. “Though we already had our own counter-revolutionary meals.”

“Truly I felt like a member of the proletariat,” Michael said somberly. “After this, I’ll be uniting all the workers of the world.”

Frannie laughed and took another puff at her cigarette, blowing a thin stream of smoke towards the ceiling. “Your phone bill’s going to be huge.”

“I work in a delicatessen,” Michael replied. “I’ll just make calls between orders.”

Steve grinned and ate a bit of his meat bun. It felt wonderful to be sitting there on what was essentially a double date now - the first double date he could remember that had actually gone well. And it occurred to him that maybe he ought to let Arnie know that he and Michael could feel free to talk openly around Frannie, given how understanding she’d been about him and Bucky.

“So, Arnie.” Frannie lowered her voice just enough to keep it from carrying past the table. “How are you and your fella enjoying the Fair?”

The table went silent for what felt like a very long moment.

“It’s okay.” Steve held out his hands in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “Frannie knows about me and Bucky. It didn’t bother her any. Her husband’s a Merchant Marine, and they’ve got an arrangement, and Bucky’s already -”

Bucky and Frannie each jabbed him suddenly in the midsection with an elbow and the resulting “oof!” took the wind out of whatever else had been about to tumble out of his fool mouth. 

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky muttered, over Arnie and Michael’s surprised outburst of laughter. He looked back and forth between them. “He always had diarrhea of the mouth, but he seems to have caught a severe case of it today.”

“It’s okay.” Arnie had tears in his eyes. He took his glasses off and wiped them down on his shirt. “It’s fine. We’ve all been there.”

Michael smiled at Frannie. “We’re enjoying the Fair just fine, ma’am. More so now.”

“Oh good.” Steve got his wind back and rubbed his stomach. “You know, Arnie and I found out about each other in a pretty strange way too.” 

“Oh yes.” Glasses back in place, Arnie grinned. “We were taking an art class together at the City College. The first time we exchanged sketchbooks, I saw a picture I shouldn’t have.”

Steve had drawn an early morning picture of Bucky asleep in Steve’s bed. It had been a tender, intimate portrait… except for the part where Bucky had scrawled “We just fucked,” across the bottom of the page. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. “Yeah, that was my fault. Guilty as charged, Your Honor.”

“And Steve,” Arnie’s grin widened, “grabbed the sketchbook from my hand and actually fled from the room. Like some kind of character in a Looney Tunes short. I was surprised he didn’t kick up a cloud of dust behind him.”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Steve felt himself redden, though he couldn’t help but laugh now that all was said and done. After all, it had turned out for the best. “I didn’t know till the next day that Arnie and I were both like that.”

Frannie was laughing as well, blowing cigarette smoke out of her nose. “I’m not a bit surprised. If it was going to happen at all, it would have happened like that.” She shot a sly smile at Steve and Bucky. “Remind me to tell you about these two and the fire escape sometime.”

Bucky jabbed Steve in the side before he could start sputtering. “C’mon, Fran, be gentle. You want to get him going again?”

“All right, all right.” She smiled a more devilish smile. “I’ll tell them about your deliveries while my husband was away instead.”

Bucky smiled at that, his gaze drifting across the cafeteria. “That first delivery was the best day of my life up ‘til that point.”

Michael looked back and forth between the three of them. “You all have some interesting stories.” He settled his attention on Steve. “You should draw them. Just like Arnie does.”

Arnie made a ‘tsk’ sound and pushed a hand through his mop of hair. “I’m sure Steve has more lucrative work.”

“Lucrative?” Steve shook his head, smiling self-deprecatingly. “Not so much. It’s steady, sure, but it’s WPA work. Not nearly as much as I used to get from my advertisement posters.”

“I don’t qualify for WPA work.” Arnie shrugged. “My parents own a ladies’ undergarments store, remember? So since I can be employed there, they’re not going to give me a valuable WPA spot.”

“Selling girdles and garter belts can’t be all that lucrative either.” Steve looked down at his half-eaten meat bun, but decided that it could wait. “Or all that fun, if we’re being honest.”

Arnie drummed his fingers on the table. “Right on both counts.”

“So…” Steve’s eyebrows knit. “I’m not exactly following you here. What are you drawing then, ladies’ undergarments?”

Michael snorted, though it was without heat. “Something like that. He’s very good.”

“No, I’m not,” Arnie protested, gaze straying off the side. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Yes, you are. You get steady work. Constant commissions.”

“Because my grammar’s halfway decent.” It was Arnie’s turn to roll his eyes. “Along with my spelling.”

“And your anatomy?” Frannie cocked an eyebrow and stubbed out her cigarette.

Arnie looked at her. “Yeah. That too.”

Bucky perked up suddenly. “There’s money in that?”

Arnie shrugged. “Decent money, if you know the right people and your work is consistent and on-time.”

“I’m still very confused over here.” Steve waved his hand, completely in the dark about whatever was being discussed. What in the hell did spelling and grammar and anatomy have to do with getting paid decent money? “What are we talking about now?”

Arnie sighed. “I draw Tijuana bibles. I’ve been doing it about a year now.” Another shrug, this one a bit too casual. “Aside from the WPA, it’s pretty impossible to get work as an artist right now, and I didn’t want my skills to shrivel and die while I sell brassieres to old ladies.”

Comprehension slowly dawned on Steve. He’d seen Tijuana bibles before, naturally - who hadn’t? - but it had never occurred to him to try his hand at drawing one before, let alone trying to sell them.

“So you’re suggesting I draw blue books for cash on the side?” He paused, his brow furrowing. 

Next to Steve, Bucky blew out a breath but said nothing.

“I wasn’t really suggesting it.” Arnie jerked a thumb at Michael. “This guy right here suggested it. I mean, it’s pretty seedy, but the money’s good.”

Steve found himself wondering just how seedy it could get. After all, for a good chunk of change on the side in addition to his WPA wage, he could probably tolerate a bit of seediness.

But it only took him a moment to consider that, since it was pretty illegal to make, distribute, or even possess pornography, he’d probably be dealing with career criminals. Mobsters and mafiosos, even; the sort of guys who’d been bootlegging and running speakeasies a decade ago. 

Then again, he reminded himself, if Arnie was doing it, maybe he knew somebody a little less disreputable. And dangerous.

“Who do you work with?” Steve fidgeted with his napkin. “I hope it’s not some shady gangster with a .38 in his pocket.”

Arnie’s eyes widened in surprise before he burst out laughing. “You have some imagination there. No one’s threatening me with .38s.”

“Who said anything about threatening?” Steve tried for a nervous little laugh, but it made him sound even more uneasy than he was. He hoped it wouldn’t come to threats. “I just asked whether you worked for the mob.”

Arnie was silent for a long moment. 

Frannie blew a ring of smoke toward the ceiling.

Finally, Arnie said, “Not directly, but who do you think runs the underground clubs we like so much?” He spread his hands. “We _finocchios_ are good for business, you know?”

“Oh.” Steve suddenly felt a bit stupid for not having figured that out earlier. But - and he brightened at this - they hadn’t been accosted or threatened by anybody at the clubs. So maybe working hand in hand with the mob wasn’t so awful a proposition after all.

He couldn’t believe that thought had actually just crossed his mind.

“So how do you work it?” He was finding himself becoming more and more interested in the idea. “Do you draw your stuff and then hand it off to somebody at a prearranged meeting point, and then they give you your money in a brown paper bag?”

Michael snorted. “He meets a guy at the deli I work in.”

Arnie nodded. “A guy we met in one of the clubs, actually. He was asking if anyone liked art and,” he shrugged, “there you go. It’s not nearly as dramatic as you’re hoping.”

Bucky frowned. “Unless you get caught. In which case, you’d be risking one hell of an obscenity rap.”

“The publishers and distributors, sure.” Arnie shrugged again. “But it’s not like you put your real name on it.”

“I could call myself Grant R. Stevenson.” He grinned over at Bucky. “That’s a classy-sounding alias, right?”

Bucky grabbed the remainder of Steve’s half-eaten meat bun. “How about you just call yourself Mr. Ridiculous?”

Frannie snorted over her cigarette. “Is that what the ‘R’ stands for?”

“I’m doing this.” Steve nodded resolutely, giving Bucky a glare. “Ridiculous or not.”

And throughout the rest of the day, which they spent tirelessly exploring the rest of the Fairgrounds - including one last gander at Elektro the Moto-Man - Steve kept on thinking about his prospective new side job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE FIRST  
> One of my favorite parts about writing this series is that it is essentially a period piece. The way they lived - the food they ate, the clothes they wore, what life was like - is pretty fascinating to me, and I strive to work those details into the story. 
> 
> The 1939's World Fair did exist, and everything from Elektro the Moto-Man! to the Soviet pavilion were key features. (There was also an amusement park and a nudie show, which I wanted to have them visit, but it didn't work out for the flow of the chapter.) 
> 
> Tijuana bibles were also a thing. Also called blue books, they were underground, illegal, pornographic comics, and you can google them in all their salacious glory. (TW: Some of them contain horribly racist caricatures, so keep that in mind while looking.) 
> 
> NOTE THE SECOND  
> As always, comments, questions, and kudos keep the proverbial food on the table!


	3. Clinton Wharf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The song ended, and Bucky reluctantly detached himself from Steve and went over to the gramophone. He flipped the record over and the smooth instrumental riffs of Tommy Dorsey’s ‘Satan Takes a Holiday’ drifted through the parlor._
> 
> _Bucky turned back, and Steve had a strange, soft expression on his face, one that Bucky couldn’t entirely describe, but made him feel warm and dopey and in-love all the same._
> 
> _“Hey.” He hooked a finger in Steve’s collar and pulled him close. “You have a good day?”_

**Red Hook, Brooklyn**  
**a few weeks later**

A few weeks later, Steve hadn’t dropped the idea of drawing blue books for quick cash. 

Bucky put in a few half-hearted protests here and there, but Steve had always been a stubborn little shit and once he put his mind to something, there was no talking him out of it, no matter how harebrained or ill-conceived the scheme might be.

Besides… they could’ve used the extra money. 

“Okay, fine,” Bucky finally agreed on a very muggy late-June evening, after Steve had fucked all sense out of him. “You can meet the guy. But I’m going with you.”

“Good idea,” Steve had replied, equally senseless. “Maybe that’ll give him the idea that I’m serious about it.”

Setting up the meeting was surprisingly easy. Arnie had provided a telephone number, Steve called the guy - one Mr. Pagano, though Bucky doubted that was his real name - and he agreed to meet them in a week at Shane’s Bar and Grill near Clinton Wharf.

Of course it would be at the docks. 

In the meantime, Bucky went down to O’Grady’s Pub after work, drained off a beer, and then bought four Tijuana bibles for twenty-five cents each. (Of course they were selling them, under the counter, no questions asked.)

He held them up when Steve got home. “Research. For your new business venture.”

“Ooh.” Steve set down his bag with a grin and hurried over. “I wouldn’t mind doing a little of that kind of research.”

The very first book contained a crudely drawn Mickey Mouse whipping his giant dick out and plowing Minnie Mouse on the dining room table. Then Donald Duck barged into the room with his own massive cock on display and-

“This isn’t turning me on,” Bucky said flatly. “Is it supposed to? ‘Cause it ain’t working.”

“The art is shit,” Steve spat. “And the story is worse. Is this what people jerk off to?” He shook his head in disgust. “I could piss better pornography than this.”

Bucky smirked, though he refrained from pointing out that Steve’s artistic rage was actually kind of endearing.

The next book featured Popeye and Bluto taking turns with Olive Oyl. The art was somewhat better in that it at least looked like something from the animated serials. Or did that make it worse? Bucky wasn’t sure. 

The third book featured horribly racist caricatures having sex in a swimming pool, made worse by the atrocious grammar and spelling that accompanied each speech bubble and caption.

“So I take it Arnie didn’t draw these.” Bucky set the book aside.

“Arnie actually knows a few colored guys,” Steve replied with a disgusted shake of his head. “He wouldn’t draw one with ridiculously huge lips and bulging eyes. That’s just crass.”

The last book featured surprisingly decent art, though Bucky could’ve lived without the image of Betty Boop blowing Dick Tracy. 

“At least this guy doesn’t misspell every other word.” Steve chuckled. “And the art’s not half bad, I guess. Though that might be because he’s drawing cartoon characters.”

“Well,” Bucky tossed the last book on the bed, “if you decide to go through with this, you’re already ahead of the game in style.”

“How did I not decide to do this before?” Steve shook his head. “I can think of about fifty different ways to improve on what we just read. And that’s even before getting to the storylines.” He turned to Bucky and smiled. “I’ll bet if I used you as a model, I could draw some stuff that’d sell out every run they printed.”

Bucky looked at him for a long moment. Finally he said, “Now why would you want to go and do that?”

“What, use the best-looking guy I know as a life model for tug-books?” Steve grinned. “Gee, I don’t know. There are so many reasons not to.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at that. 

Damn it, when would he learn how to say no - and mean it? If twenty years of experience had taught him anything, the answer was more than likely never. Not when it concerned Steve. 

He was hooked on the little punk. Whether he liked it or not.

“It’s a good thing I’m just some jerk working at a pharmacy,” he said, “and not someone trying to go into politics or law or whatever.”

“You’re not just anything.” Steve socked him in the shoulder, which felt like getting bopped with a feather duster, and pouted exaggeratedly. “Who cares if you’re not a lawyer or a politician? You’re worth a hundred of them any day.”

“Oh, sure.” Bucky put an arm around Steve and pulled him close. “Nobody takes inventory and scoops ice cream like I do.” 

“Oh, come on, Buck.” Steve wrapped both arms around him and squeezed. “It’s more than that, and you know it. Mr. Cicalese trusts you enough to run the place when he gets too old.” He smiled. “And I love you for a whole bunch of different reasons.”

“Yeah?” Bucky nuzzled Steve’s ear. “Gimme three reasons. Good reasons.”

“Well, there’s one right there.” Steve hunched his shoulders and wriggled closer to Bucky, his smile broadening. “And the fact that you love me so much you moved in with me. And let’s not forget that you’ve put up with me for pretty much my whole life and not kicked me to the curb yet.”

“Yet,” Bucky repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. He nibbled at Steve’s earlobe. “We’ll see what happens when your looks go.”

“Oh, when my looks go, I’m dead.” Steve grinned cheerfully. “I know that much. So I’m just concentrating on making the most of the time I’ve got.”

Bucky pulled back suddenly and stood. “C’mon, get your shoes on. I have a bit of money. Let’s go to the automat and figure out your new career over quiche.”

Over the next few days, Steve spent all of his time after work hunched over his drafting table, putting together an eight page sampler to show Mr. Pagano. Occasionally Bucky would hook his chin over Steve’s shoulder and take a sneak peek, but Steve was on a roll and Bucky largely let him work uninterrupted. (Except to remind him to eat. Because only Steve needed reminders to eat, the little twerp.)

On the evening they were supposed to meet Mr. Pagano, they made the ten minute walk to the docks in the muggy June heat, Steve holding onto his satchel like his life depended on it and practically bouncing on his heels.

“Your nerves are making me nervous.” Bucky slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “This isn’t a date. Relax.”

“I’m relaxed.” Steve flexed his hands on his bag. “I just don’t want to lose the drawings, you know? And I’ve only ever talked to this guy over the phone. I’ve never met him in person.”

The area surrounding Clinton Wharf was busy in the early twilight of the evening. The surrounding storefronts, especially the many bars and small restaurants, were hopping and a few dolled up sporting girls from the local ringers were lounging in windows and door frames. 

“Well, you’re about to.” Bucky pulled open the door to Shane’s Bar and Grill. “And only drink one beer, okay? I don’t want you agreeing to anything while ossified.”

“Oh, come on, Buck.” Steve shot him a glower as he walked in the door. “What’s the worst decision I’ve ever made when I was drunk?”

“Well, you slept with me,” Bucky said easily. “And now look at you.”

The place was only slightly more rundown than the bars in their neighborhood and just as dark, smoky, and packed. A few sailors surrounded the single pool table in the back and a bunch of guys were crowded around the floor model radio, listening to what sounded like a pretty exciting ball game.

Mr. Pagano had said he’d be sitting at a table by the window and wearing a gray suit, and it wasn’t hard to find him. He ended up being a chubby, neat, well-put-together guy with thick wavy salt-and-pepper hair that seemed a little out of place on somebody who looked so young. There was a half-eaten bowl of peanuts and a mostly-empty glass on the table in front of him. He had a friendly sort of look about him, and he seemed more like a guy who’d make sandwiches at a deli than a gangster.

Steve was likely disappointed.

“You Steve?” he asked, peeling apart a peanut shell and smiling. “Have a seat, fellas. What’re you drinking?”

Bucky slid into one of the chairs. “Whatever’s on tap, thanks.”

“I’m Steve, sir,” Steve piped up. “This is my friend, Bucky. How’d you know it was me?”

“Look at this kid over here.” Mr. Pagano chuckled. “Callin’ me ‘sir’.” He signaled to the bartender and turned to Steve. “Nobody who looks like him is gonna bring somebody who looks like you along for backup.” He chuckled again and drained the last of the beer in his glass. “No offense.”

“It’s no problem.” Steve shrugged. “I get that a lot.”

A waiter brought them three beers and a fresh bowl of peanuts, and after everyone had a taste of both, Mr. Pagano shifted to the business at hand.

“So your pal Arnie tells me you can draw,” he said while shelling another peanut. “I always get good work from him. He’s a good kid.” He popped the peanut into his mouth and raised an eyebrow. “What’d you bring to show me?”

“Well, I’ve got a whole eight-pager worked out.” Steve heaved his satchel up onto the table and began to rummage around in it. “If you like it, you can have it right now and I’ll start working on another one as soon as I get home.”

Bucky popped another peanut in his mouth and caught what he could of the game on the radio. If things worked out okay, he wouldn’t be needed at all.

“Not bad,” Mr. Pagano said as he thumbed through the pages. “Nice clean lines, no sloppy lettering. Better than what I usually get.” He raised an eyebrow at Steve. “How long did this one take you?”

“A few days.” Steve took a sip of his beer and started speaking quickly. “In the evenings, after work. See, I work for the WPA, and -”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it, all right?” Mr. Pagano held up a hand and smiled. “A few days is fine. I mostly get three or four a month from the guys who draw for me. As long as you don’t keep me waiting a whole month or try to pass off something you scribbled in five minutes, I’m not gonna hound you.”

Bucky took a long pull on his beer and brought his attention back to the conversation. “What do you pay?”

“Ah, so that’s why you brought him along.” Mr. Pagano chuckled in Bucky’s direction before turning back to Steve. “I can start you at three bucks for every book. If your stuff winds up being in really high demand, we can renegotiate.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. If Steve made three to four books a month, he’d be bringing in what they paid in rent.

Who knew pornography was so profitable?

They ended up agreeing that Steve would meet Mr. Pagano in the bar every Wednesday on his way home from work to make their exchange. And as they left the bar, Steve pocketing the $3 he’d gotten for his first eight-pager, he seemed unable to contain himself.

“Can you believe this, Buck?” Steve grinned. “It’s an extra three bucks a week! Just for drawing!” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his great fortune. “And Mr. Pagano was pretty nice for a gangster, don’t you think? I was expecting Al Capone or something, but he seemed like an all right guy.”

Bucky slid his hands in his trouser pockets and smiled. “I’ll practically be a kept man. I’d better find a way to earn my keep with the money you’ll be bringing in.”

Steve smiled back. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky shot him a glance. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Oh, come on, Buck.” Steve looked almost pained. “A kept man? You earning your keep? My appetite? Do I have to draw you a map?”

Bucky smirked. “Well, you better start drawing, pal. You have a schedule to keep now.”

They passed a ramshackle, aluminum sided lunch car, its chipped, hand-lettered sign proclaiming it to be ‘Mama Rose’s.’ 

“Let’s get dinner, Buck.” Steve tugged at his arm. “Come on, my treat. I’ve got three bucks in my pocket, and we can celebrate.”

Bucky snorted. “Money’s burning a hole in your pocket already? Last time you got a new job and I let you treat me, I found out you were three months behind on your rent.”

All the same, he followed Steve into the lunch car. They had the leftovers of a bacon, cheese, and bean casserole in the ice box, and if Bucky were perfectly honest, he wasn’t in the mood for it when he could have a hamburger and French fried potatoes instead.

“I’m not behind on my rent anymore,” Steve protested as they sat down in a booth. His face brightened. “But hey, now that you mention it, with an extra three bucks a week, I can pay you back and make up for that advance you took from Mr. Cicalese.”

Damn it.

He shouldn’t have mentioned the rent at all. The last thing Bucky needed was Steve getting a little too eager and poking holes in that story. Steve would never be happy with the idea that Bucky had posed in dirty photos to come up with the three months of back-rent Steve owed. The less he knew about that, the better they both would be.

“I don’t expect you to pay me back, Stevie.” 

The waitress brought by two glasses of water and the menus. Bucky took a drink before continuing. 

“I’m going to be a kept man, remember? Well, you’re not keeping me if you’re not keeping me in bubbly and fine shoes.”

Steve snorted with sudden laughter and picked up his menu. “You’re too much, you know that?” He shook his head. “How can you be a kept man if I owe you money?” He raised an eyebrow. “And what’s all this about fine shoes? I thought it was supposed to be dames that wanted fancy shoes.”

“Well, I’ve only got the one pair. Maybe I want more?”

When the waitress returned, Bucky ordered the hamburger and French fried potatoes that he had wanted while Steve got a meatloaf sandwich with gravy. The food arrived quickly enough and they settled in to eat.

“You know, with all that extra money you’ll be bringing in, maybe you could go back to art school.” Bucky crunched on a fried potato. “Get a degree instead of just taking a few classes.”

“I don’t know, Buck.” Steve took a big bite of his sandwich and frowned. “What good would it do? I mean, what would I even do with it?”

“Okay, fine,” Bucky said immediately. “Let’s go back to the World’s Fair and look at Elektro the Moto-Man again.”

Steve snorted and wiped gravy off his chin. “Figures that’s what you’d want.” He chuckled. “All right, let me see how much a ticket costs and we’ll go again as soon as I’ve got the money.”

“Well, I can’t tell you how to spend your money,” Bucky dragged a fried potato around a pool of ketchup and popped it into his mouth, “but I can give you innovative suggestions.”

“Yeah.” Steve gave him a smiling sort of glower. Or a glowering sort of smile. Or something. “Innovative. Like more space books, or more trips to the pictures to see the new _Flash Gordon_ serials.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “I’ve got your number.”

Bucky grinned. “And how.”

They finished their meal, which left Steve only about fifty cents lighter, and so Bucky wasn’t at all surprised when they passed the picture house and Steve suggested they go in. 

Aside from the newsreel, with its usual unsettling reports from Europe, they spent an enjoyable few hours watching a handful of amusing cartoons and a very funny musical starring Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland called _Babes in Arms_.

“They’re no Fred and Ginger,” Bucky said as they climbed the back stairs toward their place. “But they were fun.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind it if they made a few more pictures together.” Shutting the door behind them, Steve went over to the gramophone and carefully put on a record - ‘In the Still of the Night’ by Tommy Dorsey and His Orchestra with vocals by Jack Leonard - before going around to check that all the shades were down.

“So,” Steve offered with a smile once he’d completed his rounds. “What did you think of the day?” His arms went smoothly around Bucky’s shoulders, and he looked up at him adoringly.

Bucky planted a kiss on Steve’s forehead. “I think drawing the shades is not-so-subtle code that you want to get naked.”

“I didn’t even think I needed to use a code,” Steve shrugged, beaming up at Bucky after the kiss. “I just sort of figured it’d happen all by itself the way it usually does, and I figured the shades had better be drawn at the time.”

“For such a little guy,” Bucky traced a finger down the front of Steve’s shirt, skimming over the buttons, “you have one helluva libido.”

“You’re only just noticing this now?” Steve pressed himself up against Bucky, wrapping his arms tightly around Bucky’s neck and shoulders. “I’m always raring to go as long as it’s you.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky’s hands went to Steve’s waist as they swayed back and forth to Jack Leonard’s gentle crooning. “You still going to say that when I’ve lost all my hair and developed a beer paunch?”

“You don’t drink nearly enough beer for that to ever be a problem.” Steve leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “And besides, I’m the one who ought to be worried about what happens when I get old, not you.”

Bucky smiled into Steve’s hair. “You’ll be just as mouthy and fresh as you are now, only you’ll be waving your cane at the neighborhood kids instead of picking fights in alleys.”

“I don’t pick fights.” Steve almost seemed to pout as he said it. “They just sort of… find me.”

The song ended, and Bucky reluctantly detached himself from Steve and went over to the gramophone. He flipped the record over and the smooth instrumental riffs of Tommy Dorsey’s ‘Satan Takes a Holiday’ drifted through the parlor.

Bucky turned back, and Steve had a strange, soft expression on his face, one that Bucky couldn’t entirely describe, but made him feel warm and dopey and in-love all the same.

“Hey.” He hooked a finger in Steve’s collar and pulled him close. “You have a good day?”

“I haven’t had a bad day since you moved in.” Steve’s voice was hushed, but every syllable was sincere. And his face was aglow with a smile that seemed to warm everything around it. “I love you, Buck.”

“See if you’re still staying that in a few years.” Bucky started undoing the buttons of Steve’s shirt and then slid Steve’s suspenders off his bony shoulders. “When you’re complaining about how I take up space in the bed and eat all the good food in the ice box and use up the warm water in the bath.”

“Okay, first things first.” Steve ticked off the points on his fingers as he went along with Bucky’s efforts to disrobe him. “You can’t use up all the warm water in the bath if I’m in there with you. Also, it doesn’t matter if it’s the good food or the bad food or the leftovers we keep shoving to the back. If there’s food in the icebox, you’ll eat it. That’s just a fact of life.”

He shrugged out of his shirt as Bucky tugged it off of him. “And as far as taking up space in the bed, I’ve been complaining about you doing that for my entire life, and it hasn’t changed a damn thing.”

Bucky had a sudden image of them - older, grayer, and having the same old discussions. Like an old married couple, if two fellas were allowed to get married. Maybe they’d live above the pharmacy by that point or maybe they’d be in the same apartment, but not much would have changed between them. 

They’d be achier and definitely more crotchety, but Bucky would still roll his eyes in fond exasperation at Steve’s mouthy stubbornness, and they’d still go to the pictures together and treat themselves to the occasional fancy meal at a Chinese or Italian restaurant. Bucky would be running the pharmacy by that point and Steve would do all the promotional artwork.

Those thoughts carried him and Steve through the kitchen and into the bedroom, where they shed the rest of their clothing piece by piece and lost themselves in the feel and taste of each other.

And as they drifted off to sleep, sweaty and naked and satisfied, Steve didn’t even complain when Bucky did, in fact, take up most of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE FIRST  
> It is legit SNOWING outside. In April. This is the worst April Fool's Day prank EVER. Hopefully you're reading this somewhere warmer and less ridiculous.
> 
> NOTE THE SECOND  
> As always, let me know what you think!


	4. Tijuana Bible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bucky made a weird, strangled sound and pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know what part of this conversation is serious anymore.”_
> 
> _“Hopefully not the part where you expected me to call her up,” Steve said and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I was counting on you to do that. I was just going to draw.” He snorted. “And jerk off, maybe.”_
> 
> _A smile landed on Bucky’s face at that and he abruptly shouldered into Steve. “More like you’d be so busy giving yourself a tug you’d forget to draw any art for your tug-book.”_

**Red Hook, Brooklyn**  
**the next morning**

The morning sun streaming in through the windows woke Steve up before he really felt like it, but waking up in bed with Bucky managed to balance things out. Especially since the both of them were still naked, disheveled, and slightly sticky from what they’d gotten up to the previous evening.

Bucky was still sleeping, of course, splayed out in that way only he seemed to be able to manage. One arm was stuffed under his pillow, the other flung across Steve. His left leg was tucked up close to him, while his right leg seemed to stick out as far to the side as it could and his face was buried in the pillow. His hair, as rumpled as the sheets, stuck out in its characteristic curls from beneath the edge of the sheet he’d pulled up over his head sometime during the night. 

Steve grinned at Bucky’s sleeping form and swung himself out of bed, pausing only to pull on the shorts he’d been wearing last night and run his fingers through his hair. Looking at Bucky had brought a couple of good ideas to mind, and he wanted to get them down on paper before he lost them. After all, Mr. Pagano had said that he’d be willing to think about paying him more if his stuff ended up being in demand. 

And the best way to make sure his stuff was in demand was to keep on cranking it out, right?

He hunched over the drawing table in the parlor, still in his shorts, the muggy air occasionally puffing past him in the sluggish breeze, and started sketching out the story of Anne Aesthesia, a dame who gave it to her fella so well and so often that she’d put him right to sleep. 

The fella, of course, was modeled on Bucky - well, on his sleeping posture, anyway - and the way Steve was thinking about it, good old Anne would give up trying to rouse him after a while and bring home another guy. They’d go at it right next to her still-sleeping fella, and he’d never be any the wiser.

“What’cha drawing?” Bucky hooked his chin over Steve’s shoulder, glanced down at the drafting table, and snorted. “Early morning pornography, I see.”

“Oh, hey, Buck.” Steve tilted his head to the side, leaning his face against Bucky’s, and smiled. “Yeah, looking at the dippy way you sleep gave me an idea.” He gestured at the page. “What do you think?”

Bucky hummed in thought and was silent for a moment, studying the pages. Finally he said, “So Anne’s modeled after you? Never having enough no matter how many times you get it?”

“Well, you know.” Steve grinned and resumed drawing. “You’ve gotta work with what’s familiar, right?”

“So how many guys have you been making it with while I sleep?” Bucky detached himself from Steve and headed into the kitchen. 

Steve could hear Bucky rattling around, filling the coffee pot and lighting the stove before washing up at the sink.

“Be honest,” Bucky called cheerfully. “You know I’m not the jealous type.”

Steve shook his head, chuckling. “I’m hardly as good-looking as Anne, Bucky.” 

He frowned at his drawing and rubbed out a couple of lines, trying them again. It wasn’t so easy to draw the female form in positions he’d never seen it in before, especially without a life model there to keep his drawings from looking too cartoonish.

“And besides,” he went on as the noise from the kitchen continued, “Even if I was, you sleep so soundly you’d never know it if I were taking them to bed two at a time.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky poked his head into the parlor. “I bet Arnie and his fella’d be willing to go around the block with you a few times.”

“Maybe that’s an idea for the next eight-pager.” Steve smiled over at him, then began to consider the notion in earnest. “I wonder how well it’d sell if it only had pictures of guys in it?”

Bucky disappeared back into the kitchen. “Probably it would sell pretty well in the right places. We’d just have to figure out how to ask Mr. Pagano about it.”

It didn’t escape Steve’s attention that Bucky had said _they_ would have to go and ask Mr. Pagano. Meaning that there was no way Bucky was going to let Steve go all by himself to talk to a mafioso about homosexual pornography. Which, now that Steve thought about it, didn’t sound like the brightest idea he’d ever had.

He was pretty damn lucky to have the fella he had.

“Maybe I ought to get a few more run-of-the-mill ones past him first.” Steve looked down at the page again and started redoing the lines of Anne’s legs for the third time. “Just so he doesn’t get the idea that I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

He certainly hoped Bucky never got that idea.

Bucky wandered back into the parlor, buttoning his shirt up, suspenders loose around his legs. “All he needs to do is talk to you for a few minutes to see that you’re trouble.” He shrugged into his suspenders. “But that’s not a bad idea. Give him a few good books first, then bring it up.”

Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky - well, not _at_ him as much as _because of_ him - and hunched over the drafting table, trying to get the lines right. “I’m not the one who’s going to be in trouble if I’m late for work, y’know.”

Bucky headed right back into the kitchen, and returned a moment later with two cups of coffee. “Like I said before,” he pushed one of the cups into Steve’s hands, “stop waking me up for a midnight snack and maybe I wouldn’t sleep in.”

“You and your unreasonable demands.” Steve leaned against Bucky, his shoulder and head against Bucky’s chest. “I’m only flesh and blood, Buck; I’m not a marble saint.”

Bucky snorted. “Nobody who knows you would ever mistake you for a saint.” He kissed the top of Steve’s head, drained off his coffee in a long gulp, and set the cup aside. “All right, I’m off.”

He headed for the door, stopped, and turned to look back at Steve. “Don’t get so caught up in drawing porn that you’re late for your real job, okay?”

\---

Over the next few days, Steve managed to complete the book. On Wednesday, he went to the bar with Bucky to hand the finished product over to Mr. Pagano, who nodded his head in approval and gave him $3.50. “For getting it out to me so fast,” he said after a swig of beer. “Just keep ‘em coming, kid.”

On the way back, Steve turned to Bucky. “You didn’t really need to come all this way with me, you know.”

“Please.” Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets. “The last thing I need is you picking a fight with some drunk sailors at the docks. I’d never find you.”

“I don’t pick fights!” Steve glared at Bucky and forcefully folded his arms. “And besides, if the drunk sailors mind their manners, there’s nothing for me to say, is there?”

Several expressions flitted across Bucky’s face, but exasperation was what stuck. “That,” he said, “is exactly why I came with you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Steve mumbled, knowing damn well it wasn’t true and beginning to feel himself soften, but still holding the scowl in place. “And I don’t pick fights.”

“So long as sailors mind their manners.” Bucky shouldered into him. “C’mon, pick up the pace. Becca made us potato soup.”

And Steve did put a little extra hurry in his step. After all, since neither he nor Bucky knew squat about cooking, they’d have long since starved to death if Becca hadn’t still been making food for them. Or - much more likely, he supposed - they’d have wasted all their money on eating at lunch cars and Chinese restaurants.

A couple days later, though, Steve found himself sitting at the drafting table and staring at a blank piece of paper. As blank as his mind. He’d been trying to come up with some ideas for his next eight-pager, but for some reason, he just hadn’t been able to think of a single eyebrow-raising scenario or a single line of witty dialogue. It was as though all the dirty thoughts he’d ever had in his life - and that was no small amount of dirt - had just been scrubbed away.

What was he going to do by next Wednesday?

The front door opened and Bucky came in carrying a covered casserole dish. 

“Hey, Stevie,” he said cheerfully. “Fish Friday. Becca made fried potatoes and sardines. Also, she wants us over for Sunday dinner, so brush up your…” He trailed off and frowned. “What’s with you? You look like you’re about to throw up.”

Steve turned to look at Bucky, not getting up from his chair. Though he didn’t know why he was bothering to stay there at the drafting table; it was obvious he wasn’t going to draw anything.

“I don’t know, Buck.” He heaved a deep sigh and leaned on his elbows. “I’ve usually got a pretty creative mind when it comes to erotic stuff, but I haven’t been able to think of a single thing for this next bible. And Mr. Pagano’s going to need it by Wednesday, and I don’t know how patient he’s going to want to be for a guy who only just got started.”

Bucky’s frown deepened. After a moment he said, “You could draw some of the things we’ve gotten up to. Only turn one of us into a dame.”

“I tried that.” Steve sighed again, tossing his pencil down irritably. “It didn’t work. And besides, I’m finding out I’m not much of a hand at drawing dames.” He put his chin in his hands moodily. “I haven’t had a lot of practice, after all.”

“You could draw me?” Bucky waggled his eyebrows. “I could get naked right now.”

“You could.” Steve lifted his head, feeling himself brighten a little at the prospect of watching Bucky disrobe and the things such an action were likely to lead to. “But I couldn’t sell that. So it doesn’t exactly solve my problem.”

Bucky sighed. “Hang on, let me heat this thing up so we can eat.” 

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Steve sat there at the table. Occasionally, he looked down at his pencil with a blend of apathy and annoyance, but mostly he just looked over at the kitchen doorway.

“You could draw Frannie,” Bucky called. “Maybe she’ll even come out onto the balcony in one of her negligees.” 

“Yeah, right.” Steve snorted. “Like Frannie’d agree to pose in the buff while I draw her.”

Still, he had to admit it was a pretty tempting - and tantalizing - idea. 

“You never know what she might agree to.” Steve could hear Bucky setting dishes out on the table. “She likes all sorts of things.”

“Sure, Buck.” Steve chuckled as he shifted his feet on the rung of the chair. It was high enough that his feet couldn’t touch the floor when he sat in it, and so he always braced his heels on the rung to avoid swinging his feet like a five-year-old. “I’ll just give her a call and ask her over the phone. All suave and charming like I always am. She won’t be able to resist.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, pal. She might like your nerve. Or maybe call her up and offer to let me and her take a tumble while you draw us in action.” Bucky laughed and poked his head in the doorway. “Coffee’s brewing, but dinner’s ready.”

All through the meal, Steve found himself dwelling on that idea. At first it was only idle fantasy - the product of a very long infatuation with Frannie and the early teenage desire to see her out of her clothes - but the more he mulled it over, the more sense it made. She and Bucky had already made it, after all, so they’d be comfortable with each other. And given everything that Bucky had told him about Frannie, Jerry, and their proclivities, it didn’t seem like she’d be shy about having him draw her naked and… occupied.

_Ah, but what about you?_ a sly little voice in his head asked as he was helping Bucky clear the table after dinner. _What’s it going to make you feel like, watching your fella make it with somebody else while you only get to watch?_

And that did give him pause for a moment, until he remembered that when Bucky had come home and told him about his tumble with Frannie, Steve’s main reaction had been envy. Not of Frannie, but of Bucky. It was strange to think about, but he _trusted_ the two of them together. Frannie wouldn’t steal Bucky’s heart away from him, and Bucky wouldn’t fall in love with Frannie, and so at the end of the night, he’d get to go home with Bucky just like he always did.

“You really think she’d do it?” Steve asked suddenly, turning to Bucky, dish towel in hand. “Or were you just pulling my chain?”

Bucky didn’t even look up from washing the dishes. “You want me to pull your chain? That’s new, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Steve rolled his eyes in absolute exasperation and shouldered into Bucky. “I didn’t mean that, you goof.”

“You might like it.” Bucky passed him the casserole dish. “You never know.”

A sudden horrible image of being led around on a chain with a dog collar around his neck flashed before Steve’s mind’s eye, and he gave such a shudder at it that he nearly dropped the casserole dish.

“Ugh,” he said succinctly, as if his facial expression hadn’t made it clear enough. “I meant Frannie.”

“You want Frannie to pull your chain?” Bucky smirked and very studiously washed out their coffee cups. “You’ll have to be really suave and charming before you can ask her that kind of favor.”

“You are such a jerk.” Steve shook his head and scrubbed at the casserole dish with the towel.

Bucky turned the faucet off and leaned back against the sink. “Guilty as charged, but what are you really asking me? Do I think Frannie might like to pose for you?” He shrugged. “Like I said, she likes a lot of things. No harm in asking.”

“Are you nuts?” Steve hefted the casserole dish in both hands and gaped at Bucky on his way to the cabinet. “I can’t just ask her something like that. I can barely put a sentence together when I’m talking to a girl. How am I supposed to ask the most beautiful girl we’ve ever seen to take off her clothes and let me draw her in her birthday suit?” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow at that. “Okay, for one,” he held up a finger, “who said I expected you to do the asking?”

“You did!” Steve threw up his hands in disbelief. “Buck, right before dinner you said I’d have to call her up and ask her if she wouldn’t mind taking a tumble with you and letting me draw it. And just a minute ago, you said there was no harm in asking.”

Bucky made a weird, strangled sound and pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know what part of this conversation is serious anymore.”

“Hopefully not the part where you expected me to call her up,” Steve said and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I was counting on you to do that. I was just going to draw.” He snorted. “And jerk off, maybe.”

A smile landed on Bucky’s face at that and he abruptly shouldered into Steve. “More like you’d be so busy giving yourself a tug you’d forget to draw any art for your tug-book.”

“I’d draw.” Steve shouldered him back, unable to keep the smile off his own face. “With one hand.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Of course you would.”

Later on, after they’d turned out the lights, fallen into bed, and gotten the sheets nice and rumpled and themselves nice and sweaty, Steve curled up against Bucky like a lazy cat.

“How would you really feel about that?” Bucky murmured, fingers trailing lazily up and down Steve’s bare back. “Me and Frannie going at it while you watch?”

“Honestly?” Steve smiled at Bucky’s touch, arching his back into the gently-trailing fingers skittering up and down his spine. “I think if I were going to have a problem with you and Frannie making it, I’d have had it by now. I mean, this won’t be the first time by a long shot.”

“No, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Bucky agreed. “But it’s been a while. Not since you and I got serious, and…” His hand stilled on the back of Steve’s neck. 

“Hey.” Steve craned his neck to look up at Bucky, reaching his own hand up to cup the back of Bucky’s neck. “If you don’t feel right about it, then forget it. I love you, Buck. You know that, right?”

“That’s just it,” Bucky murmured. “Taking a tumble with Frannie again would be fun, I won’t deny that. And the extra money you’re bringing in with these books is great. I won’t deny that either. But… at the end of the day…” His words trailed off into a sigh.

Steve waited. 

Bucky, he knew, had never been comfortable just saying what was on his mind. Unlike Steve, who had pretty much no barriers between what he was thinking and what he’d say, Bucky had to fight to put even a fraction of his feelings into words.

“At the end of the day,” Bucky said quietly, “if it would make you feel uncomfortable… if you’d feel, I don’t know, jealous or resentful or sad... or just unhappy, I wouldn’t want to do it. I wouldn’t want to do that to you.” He licked his lips. “To us.”

“Aw, Buck.” Steve smiled a wobbly sort of smile and let his fingertips play over the back of Bucky’s neck. “The only thing that’d make me uncomfortable is if you two fell in love and I never saw you again.”

And given both Frannie’s arrangement with her husband and Bucky’s professed love for Steve, it didn’t seem like that was going to be in the cards. 

“So really, what is there to worry about?”

Bucky hummed in what might have been contentment, and when he spoke next, he sounded very close to sleep. “What did I tell you, Stevie? You invited me to move in with you. Now you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve nestled his head against Bucky’s chest, a wonderful calm feeling settling over him and a warm smile spreading across his face. “Just remember which side your bread’s buttered on, huh?”

It didn’t take him long to drift off to sleep. And his last act before doing so was to turn his head ever so slightly and press a light kiss against Bucky’s chest.

\---

As soon as Bucky finished work the next day, he paid for two bottles of Coke and a pack of smokes and headed right for Frannie McDowell’s apartment.

He knocked on her front door and sent up a quick prayer, hoping that her lunker of a husband hadn’t been suddenly recalled home. Because wouldn’t that be an unceremonious ending to something that hadn’t even properly started yet?

The door rattled open and there stood Frannie, a vision in an Oriental robe of blue watered silk, her red hair pinned up on top of her head. It dawned on Bucky that he had never seen Frannie in anything but clinging robes and negligees inside her apartment, and honestly, he couldn’t really complain. 

He smiled. “Hey, babydoll. Miss me?”

“Every time I’ve ever aimed, handsome.” She gave him a sassy smile and beckoned him in. “What brings you here?”

He followed her inside and was met with the soft crooning voice of Bing Crosby on the floor model radio. Two tabletop fans, each with its own tray of ice parked in front of the blades, whirled away sluggishly, pushing the damp heat through the room and doing little to cool it down.

“You bring me here.” Bucky’s smile broadened. “Who else? And if you bring me a bottle opener,” he held up the Cokes, “we can drink these while they’re still cold and get some relief.”

“Oh, is that what you’re looking for?” Frannie cocked an eyebrow, her smile broadening. “Some relief?” 

She chuckled, shaking her head, and headed into the kitchen to rummage around for the bottle opener. “In that case, be a dear and lock the door.”

He did so, and and when she returned with the bottle opener, he popped off both caps and handed her a Coke, then watched in appreciation as her perfect cupid’s bow lips made an even more perfect ‘o’ around the mouth of the bottle.

“So,” he murmured, “you feeling relieved yet?”

“I’m feeling a little less parched,” she said, licking those perfect lips. “But it’s still just too hot.”

She leaned her head back and brought the cool, dripping bottle to the hollow of her throat. As the glass touched her skin, she let out an appreciative hum of satisfaction. Bucky could see a single rivulet of condensation drip down into her decolletage.

He was feeling less relief by the second.

Still, he wasn’t going to stand there like some kind of rube. Or, well, Steve.

“Got you something else.” He withdrew the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “In case you ran out or were in dire need of a top up.”

“Oh, you’re a lifesaver.” She reached out and took the pack from him, her eyes half-lidded. “Now there’ll be plenty for the both of us afterwards.”

He settled onto the loveseat and smiled up at her. “Afterwards? You have something in mind, sweetheart?”

“Probably the same thing as you.” She took another suggestive pull at her bottle of Coke before settling down on the loveseat next to him. She crossed her legs, the robe parting to reveal her lush thighs. “How about it? Do you want to see where these drinks take us?”

He forced himself to meet her eyes, though he was pretty certain she wouldn’t have minded at all if he continued to look at her legs. 

“I’m yours for as long as you like,” he said. “For anything you might have in mind.”

She shifted smoothly, setting the bottle down on the end table and pressing herself up against him. Her lips fluttered at his ear.

“How about we leave a trail of clothing from here to the bedroom,” she whispered, “and then see how rumpled we can make the sheets.”

A pleasurable shiver rippled through his body and he couldn’t resist sliding his hands around her silky waist and pulling her onto his lap. Her robe parted, revealing more of her creamy thighs, and it took every last bit of willpower not to let his hands wander.

“It’s been a while,” he murmured, “since you’ve had me in your bedroom. A few years, even.”

“Well.” Her tongue flicked out over his earlobe. And was it his imagination, or was she rocking subtly back and forth on his lap? “I didn’t want to go stepping on your fella’s toes.”

It was not his imagination, and his thoughts started to spin off to some very tempting places. Though he did manage to catch the last bit of her words.

“Him. Yeah.” His hands drifted down to her ample bottom, palms settling on soft, silken globes. “About him.”

“Mmm.” A low sound hummed in the back of Frannie’s throat, sending shivers along Bucky’s spine. “What about him?”

“He’d actually be stepping on your toes.” Bucky’s smile was one of hazy pleasure. The scent of Frannie’s perfume - the scent of _her_ \- was intoxicating. “He’s a terrible dancer.” 

His hands massaged her rump, and he wanted very badly to slide his fingers underneath the hem of her robe.

“But you love him anyway.” Frannie caught his earlobe between her teeth and nipped gently. Her breath was hot and moist against the hollow behind his ear. And her backside seemed to wriggle in his hands. “It’s hard not to see.”

Another shiver shot down Bucky’s spine. “He’s tolerable.”

“You’re sappy for him.” Frannie snorted, dragging the points of her teeth along his neck. “Sappier than a pine tree in autumn. It’s adorable.”

Bucky groaned in response.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he did remember that he had a very specific mission to accomplish. He managed, somehow, to rally himself (though the situation in his shorts had rallied quite nicely, thank you very much), looking up at Frannie with what was probably a very sappy expression.

“Remember that time you asked me if I wanted to have a threesome with you and Jerry? While Steve watched and maybe drew the whole thing?”

“Yeah.” Frannie looked down at him with an arched eyebrow and a crooked sort of smile. “And you looked like you were about to scorch your shorts at the very idea.”

Bucky snorted. “It was two years ago, when I was young and innocent.” At Frannie’s amused expression, he plowed forward, “So if that option’s still on the table, Steve would like to draw the two of us taking a tumble. Inspiration,” he massaged Frannie’s ass, “for his Tijuana bibles.”

“Would he, now?” Frannie’s smile grew larger, and stars of mirth were twinkling in her eyes. Her hands wandered over to Bucky’s collar, fingertips caressing the skin just beneath the fabric. “It’s always the little, quiet guys, isn’t it?”

Another snort. “Little, sure, but quiet?” He shook his head. “No, he never knows when to shut up.”

“Unless he’s around a girl.” Frannie laughed softly and undid the top button of Bucky’s shirt. “And what about you? Do you think the pair of us could give him the kind of _inspiration_ he needs?”

He smiled up at her. “How about I go get him and we find out?”

She smiled the kind of smile he might have expected from a cat in a canary shop. “What kind of a girl could say no to that?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be right back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it getting hot in here? Or is it just me? Let me know what you think!


	5. Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve swallowed hard. This was really happening. In just a few short minutes, he’d be watching Bucky and Frannie go at it. He wouldn’t have been able to speak if he’d tried, and so he made do with a strangled sort of smile and hoped his excitement didn’t show through his trousers._
> 
> _Bucky glanced at Steve, searching his expression. Steve met his eyes with a barely-concealed nod of approving anticipation, and then Bucky turned back to Frannie._
> 
> _“For you, sweetheart?” he said softly. “Always.”_

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/149453653@N06/40833404261/in/datetaken/)

**Red Hook, Brooklyn**  
**meanwhile**

Steve looked down glumly at the fried-potato-and-sardine casserole in the icebox. He’d eaten it for the past couple of meals, and it hadn’t been very good then. He wasn’t looking forward to having to eat it again. Maybe if he just went to bed early, he could avoid having to eat it until tomorrow?

He sighed, closing the icebox door. Yes, that was probably the best way to handle it. He’d turn in before he had the chance to get really hungry, and when he woke up in the morning, he’d have a piece of toast for breakfast. That way, it would be at least lunchtime before he had to face the casserole again, and maybe something more palatable might turn up in the meantime.

The front door banged open and Bucky’s voice called out, “Stevie? Where are you?”

Steve started at the loud bang. “In the kitchen.” He came to the doorway, looking out into the parlor anxiously. Bucky looked as though he was in an awful hurry. “What’s going on?”

Bucky grinned. “Get your sketchbook. Frannie said yes.”

Steve felt his face go slack with disbelief, then light up with comprehension, and then he practically tripped over his own two feet scrambling towards the drafting table. He grabbed up his sketchbook and pencil case, looked wildly around the room to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, and caught Bucky by the elbow.

Five minutes later, they stood in Frannie’s parlor.

The drapes were all drawn, of course, and the only light came from a couple of table lamps. They were those squat brass lamps that were meant to sit on end tables and which had the effect of somehow making the room less bright than it would have been if they were unplugged. The result was a sort of soft, gauzy, diffused glow - the same quality a picture had when the director filmed a romantic scene out of focus. A slow, brass-heavy tune played on the radio.

Frannie herself stood in the doorway between the parlor and the hall, a filmy blue silk robe hugging her gorgeous figure and her hair piled up on top of her head.

“Evening, boys.” She smiled and gave Bucky a look that would’ve fried an egg. “Are you ready?”

Steve swallowed hard. This was really happening. In just a few short minutes, he’d be watching Bucky and Frannie go at it. He wouldn’t have been able to speak if he’d tried, and so he made do with a strangled sort of smile and hoped his excitement didn’t show through his trousers.

Bucky glanced at Steve, searching his expression. Steve met his eyes with a barely-concealed nod of approving anticipation, and then Bucky turned back to Frannie.

“For you, sweetheart?” he said softly. “Always.”

Steve fought down the urge to tug at the front of his pants for relief from the uncomfortable tightness that seemed to have happened all of a sudden. He remembered his sketchbook almost as a sort of afterthought, and looked down at it as though he’d never seen it before.

“I, uh.” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat clumsily. “I should sit? Probably?”

Frannie gave Bucky a look of mild amusement, one eyebrow briefly raised, before turning to Steve with a gentle smile and an even more gentle laugh.

“I should thank you.” She took a step forward, and Steve sat down in the chair before his legs betrayed him and he fell into it. “For sharing your fella with me, I mean.”

“Uh.” Steve felt his voice cracking somewhat, and he cleared his throat again. “That’s, um…” He held the sketchbook in front of his knees, hopefully masking the tent in his pants from casual view. “The pleasure’s mine.” He smiled, probably a bit too broadly. “All mine.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Frannie gave another soft laugh at that. “I’m planning on enjoying myself this evening.” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Unless I have to spend a lot of time holding poses.”

Steve thought for sure he was going to burst right there - his heart or his cock, one or the other - but somehow, all that came out of him was a fit of stammering as he tried to reassure Frannie that he wasn’t going to go making the two of them hold still for twenty minutes at a time while he obsessed over shadows and shading.

Meanwhile, Bucky had taken his shoes and socks off, wandered over to Frannie and slid his hands around her waist, pulling her against him. “Well, he’s not talking about cubism yet,” he murmured. “So we’re doing pretty good.”

“We could be doing better,” she purred as her own hands drifted up his back. “But the evening’s young.”

Steve opened his sketchbook and hurriedly began to scribble. It was harder than he’d imagined - in more ways than one - to watch the unfolding scenario before him and try to get every tantalizing image down on paper before the next took place.

“I didn’t even button my shirt back up.” Bucky’s hands slid down and further down until they rested on Frannie’s round bottom. “So we can pick up right where we left off.”

“I’d noticed.” Frannie dragged her fingernails slowly down Bucky’s back, and the hungry look on her face was so spectacular that Steve hurried to try and sketch it. “But I didn’t leave things _exactly_ the way they were when you left.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky breathed into her hair, fingers kneading the plump globes of Frannie’s ass. “What changed?”

“Can’t you feel it?” she asked coyly, pressing her backside into Bucky’s grasping hands. “You’re in the right place to feel it.”

She’d taken off her underwear, Steve realized, and nearly exploded in his shorts at the thought of it. And when the realization dawned on Bucky’s face, Steve wondered how he was managing to keep it together.

“No underwear.” Bucky’s hands skated up Frannie’s back. “No brassiere.” He smiled. “You really were eager tonight.”

“Well,” Frannie smiled up at him and brought her hands around to begin undoing the rest of the buttons on Bucky’s shirt. “With an opportunity like this one, who wouldn’t be?”

Was it Steve’s imagination, or did she look over at him for a moment when she said that?

It certainly was an opportunity, he thought as he watched and sketched. He wondered how many people had ever been invited to watch a pair of people make it, for the express purpose of drawing them in action? And - more to the point - how could he have ever imagined it’d be him?

After undoing the buttons on his shirt, Frannie hooked her thumbs in Bucky’s suspenders and dragged them down off his shoulders. She peeled his shirt and undershirt away and tossed them aside.

Bucky looked over at Steve and winked. “How we doing, Stevie?”

About a hundred possible replies flitted through Steve’s mind, most of which he’d never in a million years have the guts to say. Things like _I’d be doing better if I were right in the middle of you two_ or _About to burst right through my pants_ or _Hot under the collar; what do you feel like doing to help me out?_

“Fine,” he croaked. Swallowing past his dry throat, he grinned and tried again. “Great.”

He’d have to adjust his pants soon, though.

“Make sure you get my good side,” Frannie smiled over at him as she began to glide her hands over the sculpted musculature of Bucky’s upper body. Steve knew those contours well, and he felt himself stiffen even more in his pants to watch Frannie’s hands travel pathways his own were familiar with.

He was also familiar with the heated look on Bucky’s face, though it was directed toward Frannie now. 

“What do you say, sweetheart?” Bucky murmured, hands sliding inside of Frannie’s robe, eliciting a gasp from her. “Should we give him a good show?”

“Oh yeah.” Frannie’s eyes went half-closed, her lips slightly parted, and she leaned her head back with a catlike smile. “A show he’ll never forget.”

Steve was already positive he’d never forget what he was looking at. And as he hastily turned the page in his sketchbook and began to furiously outline a new drawing - one where Bucky’s hands were roaming under Frannie’s robe without actually taking the garment off of her - he realized that he was in the middle of creating something that would ensure he’d never forget it.

As Steve watched, Frannie’s hands drifted ever farther downward over Bucky’s torso, from his chest to his stomach to his waist and finally to the waistband of his pants. And the look on her face - and Bucky’s - when she began to undo Bucky’s pants was something mesmerizing.

“Ready, Freddie?” she asked with a sly smile, her voice low and sultry.

“For you?” A grin flickered across Bucky’s face. “Always.”

“Good.” She gave a soft throaty laugh. “But not too ready, right?”

She undid the buttons on Bucky’s pants and reached boldly inside to cup a hand over Bucky’s cock. Steve sucked in a ragged breath at the sight of it and stared, his eyes hungry, his sketching temporarily forgotten. Bucky’s pants slithered to the floor at a gentle push from Frannie’s free hand, and Steve’s eyes were glued to the gentle motions of her hand on the familiar bulge in Bucky’s shorts.

“We’ve got an audience, after all,” she breathed into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed at that and, for a moment, his hands stopped wandering underneath Frannie’s robes. 

“It’s been a while,” he murmured. “You and me. Been too long.”

Steve wondered for a moment whether Bucky had missed being with Frannie this way. He knew that Bucky and Frannie had gotten to be good friends, but that Bucky had pretty much sworn off of romping with Frannie once he’d gotten together with Steve. And Steve couldn’t help but wonder whether it might be a good idea to talk to Bucky this evening and let him know that he didn’t mind letting him have the occasional tumble with Frannie. 

If he missed it so much, that was.

Bucky’s eyes were rolling back into his head, his breath sounding uneven and tightly controlled, as Frannie’s hand kneaded him through the opening of his shorts. His feet almost seemed to absently move by themselves, toeing away his pants and leaving him standing there in his shorts.

Steve practically licked his lips in anticipation. He knew exactly what he’d be doing if it were him and not Frannie standing there with Bucky’s cock in his hand. He’d be dropping to his knees and taking as much of Bucky’s length into his mouth as he could, and -

Frannie, it seemed, was of the same mind.

Bucky’s eyes went wide as Frannie’s mouth engulfed him, a sharp gasp coming from his suddenly-open mouth, and Steve had to reach down and tug at his pants for relief as his cock throbbed achingly, begging for release. It was all he could do to put pencil to paper again and draw the tantalizing scene in front of him.

Frannie’s lips. He focused on drawing them. He remembered that night on the fire escape - it seemed like a lifetime ago - when he and Bucky had stared hungrily over at her as she lounged in her skimpy negligee. Her lips had been every bit as luscious and inviting then as they were now, but back then he could only have imagined watching them do what they were doing at this moment. Sliding up and down the length of Bucky’s pulsing shaft, pursed into a tight O-shape, her cheeks hollowing out from the suction as she drew her head back.

Steve couldn’t help it. He reached down to tug at the front of his pants again, but this time it wasn’t just to pull the tight fabric away from his erection. After all, watching his devastatingly gorgeous fella being Frenched by the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was too much to handle without giving himself at least a little bit of relief along the way.

Bucky chose that moment to lock eyes with Steve, and that very act nearly made him lose control. He let out an involuntary groan as the whole strangely pleasurable circuit was completed - him, Bucky, and Frannie - and clutched himself through his pants.

He wouldn’t last long at all like this.

And apparently neither would Bucky. He rattled apart with a sudden, startled gasp, clutching at the back of Frannie’s head and squeezing his eyes shut. And when he was finished, he looked down at Frannie with wide-eyed admiration.

“It was… it was a lot,” he said breathlessly. 

“You’re telling me,” she panted after swallowing twice. 

“You’re something else, babydoll.” Bucky smiled down at her, then offered his hand, pulling Frannie to her feet and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Now let me return the favor.”

Steve was almost unconscious of the way he was now kneading himself through his pants. The thought of what he’d just seen - what he’d been furiously sketching the entire time - not to mention what was about to happen, was making him painfully hard. At that moment, he desperately wished he could have traded places with either Bucky or Frannie. It didn’t matter which.

Bucky tugged at Frannie’s sash and then gently slid the silken fabric off her shoulders, the robe sliding off her body and pooling around her feet.

And then gorgeous Frannie McDowell - the subject of Steve’s fantasies for many years - was naked before his unbelieving eyes. Alongside his equally gorgeous fella, who was obviously ready to show Frannie a very good time despite spilling only a few moments ago. And the eyes the two of them were making at each other were as electric as a thunderstorm - so much so that Steve found himself sketching that look despite the acres of bare flesh he had to work with.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Bucky murmured, a dreamy smile on his face. “So beautiful.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.” Frannie reached up and ran her fingers through Bucky’s hair, then looked over at Steve with a small smile and a wink that nearly made him burst. “And boys.”

Bucky must’ve caught the look on Steve’s face, because he looked at Frannie and grinned. “Careful there. You don’t want to distract our artist.”

 _I’m distracted enough as it is,_ Steve would have said if he hadn’t been - well, Steve. _Don’t stop on my account._

But the best he could manage was a stammer and a furious blush, after which he moved his sketchpad to try and obscure the substantial tent in his trousers.

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Frannie moved a step closer to Bucky, pushing herself up against the front of him until her soft breasts were pressed against his muscular chest. “I’d love to watch the pair of you drive each other wild, I really would.” 

Steve’s eyes bulged at those words and the thoughts they spurred in his mind. The thought of Frannie sitting on the sofa, her thighs flung wide and her hand busy between them as she watched Steve grab hold of Bucky’s hips and drive himself into him again and again…

He made a mental note to remind Bucky she’d said that. And to get him to agree to make it happen.

She gave Bucky a mischievous smile. “Sometimes my imagination just isn’t enough.”

“You’re distracting him already.” Bucky hands wandered down Frannie’s smooth back and skimmed over the luscious globes of her ass. “He has his own work to do. And so do we.”

“You’ve certainly got work to do, mister.” Frannie arched an eyebrow at Bucky, smiling wickedly as she did, and hooked a hand behind his neck. 

Never taking her eyes from his, she moved backwards until she could sit down on the sofa, pulling Bucky down to his knees in front of her. She wound her fingers into his hair, settled back against the cushions, and slowly - achingly slowly - spread her thighs.

It occurred to Steve just then - dimly, as though it were an afterthought, beneath his notice and consideration - that this was the first time he was seeing a woman naked in anything approaching a sexual situation. It was no use even thinking about stopping his hand from stroking his cock through his pants. Not when his eyes were drawn to the smooth, creamy flesh of Frannie’s inner thighs and the deep, rosy pink between them. 

Like the pink of the inside of those huge seashells he’d seen in the museum once, but infinitely more beautiful.

“So beautiful,” Bucky murmured again, running his hands up the length of Frannie’s inner thighs and drawing a delighted gasp from her. “Everything about you…”

He leaned and kissed her, lingering on her perfect mouth for a moment before kissing a trail down her neck, over her stomach, and right over the wiry patch of hair that was just as red as the hair on her head. 

Frannie made an appreciative, humming sort of moan at the back of her throat and threaded the fingers of her right hand deeper into Bucky’s hair. Her left hand absently trailed up to her chest, her fingertips trailing over her own nipple.

Steve watched, his eyes wide, his left hand massaging his cock through his pants, his right hand poised to start sketching. And as he watched, Frannie’s fingers tightened in Bucky’s hair, pulling his head down to the glistening pink between her thighs.

The look on Frannie’s face when Bucky’s mouth closed over her was almost indescribable. Her eyes went half-closed, rolling back into her head, and her lips curved upwards into the most satisfied smile Steve had ever seen on anyone. He had to draw it. And as he did, he watched Frannie begin arching her hips upward against Bucky’s suckling mouth.

The sounds coming from the pair of them over the next few minutes were an assortment of moans and gasps. Bucky’s were naturally muffled, but Frannie’s were clear and breathy. And they very quickly seemed to grow in volume and speed as Steve furiously sketched.

Finally, Frannie’s other hand left her breast to clutch at the back of Bucky’s head as well. She squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back and her hips up off the sofa and grinding herself against Bucky’s mouth as a long, guttural moan tore out of her mouth. It seemed to go on and on, her pleasure as obvious as it was mesmerizing to watch, until finally she sagged back onto the couch limply. 

Her face wore a smile of pure and utter satisfaction, and her barely-open eyes were smoky with exhausted pleasure.

Bucky raised his head, his face shiny with Frannie’s juices, a very pleased expression on his face. 

“Yummy.”

Frannie laughed then, a sultry, throaty laugh that said volumes about what else she wanted from the evening. “I was thinking the same thing about you a few minutes ago.”

Bucky hummed in approval and rested his head on Frannie’s thigh. “Just tell me when you’re ready for more. Or we could move onto the next course.”

“Oh, we’re doing things in courses now?” Frannie smiled down at him, not bothering to hide what was still visible between her splayed legs. “Like a French dinner. First the soup, then the salad, then the entree, then the dessert?”

Steve felt himself throb in his pants at the sight of the pair of them, so casual in their intimacy that they didn’t even bother to cover up. He and Bucky were like that; there were plenty of times when they’d eat dinner completely naked in between bouts of glorious fucking. It was incredibly erotic, though, to be able to see it from a different perspective.

He wondered what the people who’d wind up reading his bible would think about it.

As if reading his thoughts, Bucky turned and grinned. “How we doing, Stevie? Think your readers will like this?”

“They’ll love it,” Steve managed to croak out past his extreme need for relief. “I may need to draw a full-length series.”

Bucky’s eyes strayed from Steve’s face to his sketchbook and back. “Look like you need to draw a few full-lengths on yourself.”

Steve actually felt his face go burning hot as Frannie looked over at him, her eyes latching right onto the tented front of his pants. He stammered and sputtered, caught between mortification and indescribable excitement, and he couldn’t decide what to do.

“Next time I’ll do the watching,” she said with a smile, and it was almost enough to send Steve right over the edge.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat and tugged at the front of his pants again, uselessly. “Wow. Yeah.”

He really wished he knew how to talk to women.

Bucky raised an knowing eyebrow. After a moment, he rose up from the floor and squished himself next to Frannie on the loveseat. 

“Don’t give him too many ideas, Fran.” He slid an arm around her waist. “Otherwise he’ll finish before he finishes, you know?”

The image of the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa, neither of them wearing a stitch and neither of them caring in the slightest, was compelling in a way Steve couldn’t describe. They were so at ease with each other, so comfortable in their nudity and their casual intimacy, that it was not only erotic but endearing.

Steve wondered, as he sketched them sitting there, whether a casual observer might notice the same thing about him and Bucky as they lounged around the apartment in the nude. 

“Well.” Frannie looked over at Bucky again, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth, and swung a leg over him. She wound up straddling his lap, one knee on either side of his thighs. “Are you ready for that next course yet?”

Steve couldn’t see Bucky’s expression, but he could hear it in his voice. “I’m ready for whatever’s on the menu, sweetheart.”

His hands slid around Frannie’s waist and then traveled up the length of her smooth back, down over the soft curves of her ass, and back up again. 

“Whatever you like,” he murmured.

“You know what I like,” she purred, her hips rocking back and forth. From his vantage point, Steve could see Bucky’s cock swelling to life again under the touch of Frannie’s smooth skin and still-glistening wetness.

He couldn’t see both their faces, though, and that was far more important to him than anything else. And so, pants tightening very uncomfortably, he stood up and hurried over to sit in the other parlor chair. From there, he had a very nice profile view of the two of them.

“Mmm.” Frannie’s smiling lips brushed against Bucky’s. Her hips rocked back and forth, undulating in a fluid motion that was mesmerizing to watch. The gentle folds in her skin where her full and rounded hips met her sides deepened into creases and flattened out again as she moved. “Feels like you’re waking up again.”

“Who could sleep through this?” Bucky breathed, fingers kneading the soft flesh of her backside as she moved against him. “Sleep comes after the meal.”

“Knowing you, the meal won’t end for a long time.” The satisfied smile on Frannie’s face mirrored the sound of her voice as she rocked slowly and sensually against Bucky. “Which is just the way I want it.”

The way they moved together, whispered to each other, even looked at one another - it all captivated Steve with its unbridled passion. There was so much raw eroticism there, coupled with their easy familiarity, that it was certain to be captivating to anybody with a pulse.

And speaking of pulses, Steve’s own was pounding so hard that it was all he could do to hold a straight line anymore when he drew. He needed some relief if he was going to go on, and no one could fault him for wanting to ensure the quality of his work, could they?

He fumbled at the buttons of his pants for a few moments, finally reaching into his straining shorts to take himself in hand.

“Oh, you’re ready,” Frannie whispered, and for a moment, Steve thought she was talking to him. He could practically feel her lips - light and fluttering - against his ear, and he sucked in his breath. “You’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

“Always,” Bucky groaned, eyes dark with desire and hands cupped against Frannie’s ass. “Whenever you say.”

Frannie smiled and then slid down onto Bucky’s cock in one fluid motion, pulling a moan out of Bucky that sent a shiver down Steve’s spine. And as Steve watched, his cock throbbing in his fist and his pencil and sketchbook all but forgotten, Frannie let out a long and satisfied sigh as she settled down onto Bucky’s lap.

“There you are,” she purred. “Just where I like you.”

Steve felt mesmerized by the sight. He’d imagined things like this plenty, of course, and he and Bucky had certainly gotten up to more than their fair share of unclothed fun, but he never could have imagined watching Bucky and Frannie McDowell romp with each other while he was only a few feet away.

And unable to keep his hands off of his aching cock.

Frannie didn’t stir for a long moment, seemingly content to just sit there and enjoy the feeling of Bucky’s shaft inside her. Steve could relate, and the thought nearly made him laugh absurdly - who ever would have thought that he and Frannie would have had anything in common, let alone something like _that_? But then she began to move, and it was as though the air in the room started thickening.

When she raised her hips off of Bucky’s lap, Steve could see Bucky’s cock appear as if by magic, glistening with her shining wetness. And when she bore down on him again, the moan of satisfied pleasure that came out of her mouth seemed to caress Steve’s ears. Her hands drifted down to brace herself against Bucky’s chest, and Bucky’s hands went to her hips to guide her movements. Her full breasts bounced mouth-wateringly as her movements sped up, Steve’s hand speeding up in time with the rutting pair of them, and when Bucky finally cried out and lunged his hips up to drive himself deep into her one final time, Steve gasped out his own release at the same moment.

Frannie uttered a long, low moan of pure pleasure as Bucky tensed beneath her, and Steve spilled again and again and again into his cupped hand until he had nothing left and sagged back into the chair.

For a long moment, the only sound in the sticky-hot room was collective panting and the sluggish whirring of the electric fans. 

Finally Bucky murmured, “That was incredible.” He draped a hand limply across Frannie’s back. “You’re incredible.”

Frannie hummed in tired approval. “You’re not half bad yourself, sport.”

“Thanks, babe,” he snorted, though without heat. He shifted slightly, looking past Frannie. “Hey, Stevie-”

And Steve, sitting there with his softening cock still in his hand and what felt like a week’s worth of jism in his other hand, suddenly felt a bit awkward.

Frannie turned her head and took in the scene in a moment, a smile spreading across her lips. “Looks like you got your money’s worth.”

He couldn’t manage to find any words. Or any coherent sounds, even, so he settled for blushing madly and smiling back like his life depended on it.

And desperately wishing he had a towel.

Frannie seemed to read his mind. “I think we could all use a towel or two.” She slid off Bucky’s lap and stood up, but Steve didn’t have very long to appreciate the view before she tied her robe back on and slinked out of the parlor.

Bucky’s eyes followed her out of the room before returning to Steve. “She keeps towels in her bedroom,” he offered.

Of course he would’ve known that.

Steve looked over at Bucky and felt a massive grin forming on his face. “We just did that,” he said in a voice that was half awed incredulity and half excited triumph. “I can’t believe it.”

Bucky draped both of his arms over the back of the loveseat, not bothering at all to cover up. Steve supposed he had no reason to; he had been involved with both him and Frannie and so had nothing left to be modest about.

“Did you actually draw anything? Seems like you got a bit distracted.” Bucky grinned. “And if you did, guess Frannie and I’ll have to put on another performance.”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve put on his best guilty face. “Yeah, I completely forgot to draw anything. Damn.” He blew out an exaggerated sigh. “I feel bad, I mean, having to ask you guys to do all that again, but…”

“Yeah, it was…” Bucky blew out a breath. “It was a real hassle. We did you a big favor there, pal. You’d be pushing your luck to ask for another.”

“Well, I can always help get you ready again.” Steve grinned over at him. “You know I’m good at that.”

Before Bucky could reply, Frannie reappeared, clad in a different silk robe and carrying a couple of towels. 

“Okay, fellas,” she tossed a towel to each of them, “my program comes on in twenty minutes and I don’t take either of you for _Guiding Light_ listeners.”

Bucky smiled easily. “In other words, clean up and get gone so you can listen to your soaps.”

“I love a man who really knows how to listen.” Frannie smiled right back at him before turning to Steve. “So, I get to have a look at those drawings before they go to print, right?”

“Oh,” Steve stammered as he wiped the cooling stickiness from his fingers and started on his flaccid shaft. “Uh, yeah. Definitely.” He reddened slightly, tucking himself back into his shorts and wondering how in the world he’d ever been so recklessly brave as to let Frannie McDowell see his cock. “Absolutely. You bet.”

Bucky cleaned off and dressed himself quickly. “C’mon, Stevie.” He pulled on his shoes. “We both need a bath.” He looked over at Frannie and winked. “Something for you to think about during the commercial breaks.”

“Oh, don’t you worry.” Frannie winked right back at him as she held the door open for them. “I’ll be thinking about it until I hear from you about when it’s my turn to watch.”

And with that little thought to buoy him along, Steve picked up his sketchbook and practically floated out of Frannie’s apartment.

\---

Over the next week, Steve drew like he was on fire, putting together enough content to make several Tijuana bibles. Mr. Pagano was so pleased to get four books in one go, he gave Steve an extra two dollars on top of the twelve earned.

“You really should draw me and Frannie more often,” Bucky said on the walk home. “You just earned our rent in a week.”

Of course it had meant that Steve had stayed up late most nights, while Bucky had gone to bed untouched (though commenting that he was now very well-rested), but that was the unfortunate cost of doing business.

And it had certainly turned out to be a pretty profitable business lately.

“I should have started doing this years ago,” Steve replied, shaking his head and smiling. “What do you want to do to celebrate? Chop suey? Spaghetti?” He frowned. “Something else fancy and foreign that isn’t made of noodles?”

Bucky frowned thoughtfully. “What else is there, do you think?”

“I don’t know.” Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets, his eyebrows knitting. “I’m not much up on foreign food.”

“The French eat snails,” Bucky offered. “They probably got some snail restaurants over in Manhattan.” 

Steve looked over at him with a nauseated expression. “Yeah, well, the French eat horses too.” 

Bucky’s frown deepened. “So that’s what they’re eating in the fancy restaurants on the Upper West Side? Somehow I don’t feel like I’m missing out.”

“They eat fish eggs, too.” Steve shrugged. “And a bunch of other stuff that just doesn’t make any sense.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Well, that ain’t worth an hour and a subway transfer.”

“How did a country with such horrible foods ever come up with such great fried potatoes?” Steve looked thoughtful for a minute. “You know, I wonder if the rich are so used to eating weird crap that they’d turn their noses up at a good honest hamburger?”

“Hey, speaking of.” Bucky stopped in front of the same rundown, aluminum sided lunch car they had eaten in a week or so ago. “Mama Rose’s does a pretty good hamburger and French fried potatoes.”

“I’m sold.” Steve shrugged, smiling, and gestured at the door. “After you? I’m buying, what with this afternoon’s windfall.”

“Like I said,” Bucky held the door open and then followed Steve inside, “I’m a kept man.”

Over his hamburger and fries, Steve mused that he sort of liked thinking of Bucky as a kept man. Particularly when he was _Steve’s_ kept man.

God, that thought gave him such a thrill sometimes. As though it weren’t enough to have Bucky as a fella - to have gotten Bucky to move in with him - now Bucky was referring to himself as a kept man. 

And, Steve had to admit, he really enjoyed getting to be the one doing the keeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE THE FIRST  
> It was so much fun both working with and getting to know Cryo_Bucky while putting this fic together! She's a fantastic artist and a really cool person, and I'm so glad I was paired with her for this challenge!
> 
> NOTE THE SECOND  
> As always, let me know what you think of it all!


End file.
